LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

University  of  California. 

GIFT    OF 

^)../.....Sr^..^...W4^,..ccA^^ 

Class 


GREEK  VIGNETTES. 


A  SAIL  IN  THE  GREEK  SEAS, 
SUMMER  OF  1877. 


JAMES  ALBERT  HARRISON. 


"  The  swallow  brings  us  news 
'Tis  time  to  sell  the  winter  cloak,  and  buy  the  summer  blouse." 

Aristoph.  Birds,  714.    Jebb. 
"The  sundry  contemplation  of  my  travels,  which,  by  often  rumination, 
wraps  me  in  a  most  humorous  sadness."  Shakspere. 


( 


or  THE 

t/N/VERSr, 

r      OF 


BOSTON : 
HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 

1878. 


D^^, 


0 


V^ 


^n 


Copyright,  1878, 
By  JAMES   A.  HARRISON. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED     A N D P R I N T E D B Y * 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON   AND  COMPANY. 


To 
S.  A.  H.  AND  L.  N.  B. 


183666 


NOTE. 

• 

This  little  book  is  a  record  of  a  few  weeks' 
travel  in  Greece  last  summer.  It  does  not  make 
the  least  claim  to  thoroughness ;  no  deep  ques- 
tions of  archaeology  are  discussed ;  only  the  vivid 
impressions  of  the  moment  ^are  given;  and  the 
task  of  discussing  the  moral  and  political  regen- 
eration of  the  modern  Greeks  is  left  to  more 
elaborate  investigators.  The  journey  was  a  de- 
lightful succession  of  pictorial  surprises ;  the  land- 
scape and  the  externalities  of  Greece  could  alone 
be  noted,  and  there  was  no  time  for  discussing 
Greek  parliamentary  reform,  the  subtler  aspects 
of  Greek  character,  or  the  inner  and  profounder 
life  of  this  interesting  people.  The  indulgence 
of  the  kindly  reader  is  therefore  asked  for  the 
many  (doubtless)  hasty  judgments  of  these  pages, 
the  sudden  transitions  from  subject  to  subject, 
the  use  of  the  present  tense,  and  the  constant 
recurrence  of  /.  A  book  written  in  the  fields, 
hotels,  and  ships,  on  one's  knees,  or  sauntering 


vi  NOTE. 

through  olive  groves  with  the  thermometer  ioo° 
Fahrenheit,  must  be  guilty  of  all  these ;  so  slight 
and  perishable  a  thread  of  oriental  travel  hardly 
deserves  the  memorializing  help  of  print  at  all. 
The  author,  however,  with  due  apologies,  brings 
it  before  the  public  with  the  hope  that  it  may  at- 
tract more  attention  to  a  field  still  little  explored 
by  tourists. 

J.  A.  H. 
Lexington,  Va. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.   Through  the  Ionian i 

II.   Summer  Days  in  Athens    ....  77 

III.  Attic  Experiences 146 

IV.  Glimpses  of  Old  and  New  Athens          .  171 
V.  Odds  and  Ends  of  Greek  Life     .        .        .  206 

VI.  Through  the  Islands  of  the  Blest        .  245 


GREEK    VIGNETTES. 


I. 


We  left  Milan  at  i.io  p.  m.  for  Venice,  by  the 
express,  and  rode  through  blinding  dust  till  a  deli- 
cious thunder-storm  broke  upon  us,  and  we  arrived 
in  Venice  amid  grand  lightning  and  deafening 
thunder.  We  got  a  charming  glimpse  of  Verona, 
Padua,  and  Lago  di  Garda  as  we  passed.  Mount- 
ains on  the  Swiss  and  Austrian  side  and  endless 
fields  and  vineyards  on  the  other ;  crowds  of  peo- 
ple coming  and  going  all  the  time.  There  was  one 
poor  German  girl  in  distress  :  she  seemed  to  have 
difficulty  in  understanding  or  being  understood. 
We  reached  Venice  at  7.45  a.  m.,  covered  with  dust 
and  fatigue,  took  a  gondola,  and  were  wafted  (there 
is  no  other  way  to  express  the  delightful  motion) 
to  the  Hotel  Victoria,  wherawe  flew  into  the  arms 
(figuratively)  of  several  waiters,  all  affectionately 
marshaled  on  the  marble  steps  to  receive  us. 
Then  we  were 'taken  up  to  the  oddest  sort  of  a 
room  with  double  doors  and  windows  that  looked 


2  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

nowhere,  alcoves  that  concealed  nothing,  a  floor 
tessellated  in  a  sort  of  composition  looking  like 
Castile  soap,  and  a  pudgy  bed  hung  with  muslin 
to  keep  out  mosquitoes.  Despite  this  chamber 
of  horrors,  however,  we  had  a  delightful  dinner 
and  refreshing  night's  rest  and  then  got  up  and 
rambled  over  our  old  haunts  again,  —  the  Piazza, 
San  Marco,  the  Doge's  Palace,  the  Piazzetta,  etc. 
All  seemed  so  fresh  and  familiar,  so  old  and 
strange.  A  pale  gray  day  :  towards  evening  we 
witnessed  a  magnificent  sunset  from  the  cam- 
panile of  San  Marco's, — gold  and  pink.  There 
was  a  band  of  music  playing  in  the  square,  and 
an  innumerable  multitude  of  promenaders,  while 
the  full  moon  rose  in  dazzling  mellowness  and 
glorified  the  scene.  To-day  was  indescribably 
beautiful ;  full  of  golden  sunshine  as  a  rose  is  of 
bloom  or  a  bright  eye  with  tears.  I  took  a  gon- 
dola and  was  rowed  up  the  Grand  Canal,  out  into 
the  lagoon,  over  to  Murano,  and  back  by  Mala- 
mocco  (where  there  is  splendid  surf-bathing)  and 
the  Armenian  convent.  What  a  lovely  place  this 
is  !  With  a  garden  full  of  blooming  oleander  and 
magnolia,  a  series  of  exquisite  landscapes  break- 
ing in  on  you  through  every  window,  and  an  inef- 
fable tranquillity.  (Plague  take  these  Ac  qua  !  ac- 
quafresca!  criers,  who  disturb  one's  meditations  at 
every  moment !)  Except  Tasso's  Garden,  I  have 
never  seen  so  lovely  a  spot.    We  saw  letters  there 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  3 

from  Longfellow  and  Bryant  and  a  host  of  celeb- 
rities, after  which  we  went  through  the  library  and 
church  and  got  a  glimpse  of  the  precious  illumi- 
nated breviaries  and  MSS.  We  were  shown 
Lord  Byron's  autograph  and  inkstand,  then 
through  picture-galleries,  museum,  printing  room, 
and  refectory.  The  garden  was  in  infinite  bloom, 
incomparable  geraniums  making  great  spots  of 
Tizianesque  color,  tall  cypresses  casting  ebon 
shadows,  sweetness  and  peace  diffused  over  the 
whole  place,  and  such  a  gentle-faced,  gentle-man- 
nered padre  for  a  guide.  It 's  true  his  French 
was  n't  good,  but  I  have  seldom  seen  a  sweeter 
face.     Anda  in  pace. 

We  got  back  to  the  Victoria  thoroughly  wearied, 
and  are  now  about  to  start  for  Trieste  (i  1.30  p.  m.), 
where  I  hope  to  arrive  to-morrow.    Buona  Notte  ! 

We  arrived  at  Ancona,  on  the  Italian  coast,  at 
6,  after  a  most  beautiful  sail  down  the  Adriatic 
from  Trieste,  which  we  left  yesterday  afternoon 
at  4.  We  are  in  a  Lloyd's  coasting  steamer 
going  from  Trieste  to  Smyrna,  and  touching  at 
Ancona,  Brindisi,  Corfu,  Cephalonia,  Zante,  Cer- 
igo,  and  Syra  (all  but  the  last  Ionian  Islands), 
a  trip  which  I  have  long  desired  to  make.  The 
steamer  is  a  charming  little  screw,  the  Oresfe, 
with  cool,  well-ventilated  cabin,  and  one  of  the 
tidiest  state-rooms  I  ever  had,  curtained,  with  two 
port-holes  whence  brilliant  views  may  be  caught 


4  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

to  seaward  as  through  the  end  of  a  telescope  ; 
heavy  plate-glass  mirror  and  luxurious  lounge, 
withal  high-ceilinged,  and  scrupulously  clean. 
The  view  the  whole  afternoon  after  we  had 
turned  our  backs  on  Trieste  was  indescribable. 
The  wind  blew  gently  and  freshly  right  behind 
us,  just  curling  the  waves  till  they  laughed  and 
lapsed  over  into  sparkling  white  caps,  while  the 
grand  Austrian  Alps  hung  over  the  northwestern 
shore  as  if  to  take  a  last  look  at  us.  They  were 
snow-capped  in  places.  Imagine  their  exquisite 
beauty  veiled  by  this  wonderful  azure  air  and 
glimmering  blue-white  through  the  film  of  trans- 
parent atmosphere  between.  The  head  of  the 
Adriatic  with  Trieste  as  a  brooch  is  a  vast  am- 
phitheatre of  semi-encircling  mountains,  a  scene 
and  centre  of  unrivaled  fertility.  From  Navre- 
sina,  where  we  changed  coming  from  Venice  to 
Trieste  it  is  more  than  a  garden.  The  mount- 
ains of  Udine  are  great  belts  of  luxurious  vege- 
tation. The  vine  creeps  all  over  their  sides ;  the 
fig  grows  wild,  apparently ;  an  infinite  garden  fol- 
lows the  railway ;  delicious  glimpses  of  the  Adri- 
atic peep  in  through  the  great  rents  in  the  blasted 
rock ;  the  road  is  high  up  on  the  mountain  side, 
and  deep  below  the  sea  is  rimmed  and  embroi- 
dered with  bright  flower-inclosed  villas,  where  the 
Austrian  and  Italian  nobility  go  into  villeggia- 
tura  in  the  summer.     What  an  eye  for  the  pict- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  5 

uresque  these  strange,  matter-of-fact  railway  peo- 
ple seem  to  have !  Or  is  engineering  an  imagin- 
ative science  ?  They  select  their  sites  as  care- 
fully as  a  poet  would  the  subject  for  an  epic 
poem.  This  run  from  Cormous  to  Trieste  is 
truly  epic.  We  could  see  Miramar  far  beneath 
on  a  promontory,  —  Miramar  of  tender  and  pa- 
thetic memor}^  It  is  a  white,  gleaming  villa- 
castle,  laved  by  the  Adriatic  and  imbedded  in 
trees  and  flowers.  I  did  not  have  time  to  go  up 
and  visit  it.  We  passed  a  restless  night  coming 
from  Venice,  starting  up  in  tremulous  excite- 
ment every  half  hour  from  brief  snatches  of  sleep, 
to  see  whether  we  had  reached  the  place  for 
changing  trains,  and  then  having  intervals  of 
intense  sleep  in  between,  for  we  were  fagged  and 
satiated  with  the  desert-like  scenery  of  Venice. 
Every  now  and  then  during  the  night  I  would 
break  out  into  floods  of  inspired  Italian,  inspired 
or  injected  into  me  through  horror  of  getting  out 
at  the  wrong  place.  It 's  amazing  what  feats  of 
memory  one  will  perform  in  need.  I  quite  as- 
tonished my  batteliere  in  Venice,  after  his  long 
spasms  of  excruciating  French,  by  unexpectedly 
breaking  out  into  fluent  Italian.  "  Signore  com- 
prende  Italiano  bene,''  cried  he,  quite  offended, 
as  if  I  had  been  taking  an  unbecoming  advantage 
of  him.  His  indignation  was  flattering.  Where 
the  Italian  came  from  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  found 


6  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

myself  chattering  away  as  we  gondolaed  about 
among  the  lovely  isles  and  lagoons,  now  shooting 
out  into  broad  sheets  of  trembling  green  sunlight, 
now  floating  into  the  shadow  of  ancient  walls  and 
gardens  on  some  remote  isola^  where  the  per- 
fumes of  oleanders  were  wafted  to  us  over  the 
convent  walls,  or  a  deep-toned  bell  came  vibrat- 
ing with  strange  sweetness  over  the  water.  What 
a  luminous,  languid  day  it  was,  with  its  evening 
wing  sprinkled  with  iridescent  light,  like  a  pea* 
cock's ;  far-off  mountains  of  Padova  and  Udine 
standing  in  breathless  calms  and  windless  sea, 
momentarily  expecting  to  be  doubled  by  a  mi- 
rage ;  the  mighty  roll  of  the  surf  on  the  long  shore 
of  Malamocco ;  the  cries  of  the  mad  people  as  we 
passed  the  immense  Spitale  dei  Pazzi,  and  Venice 
lying  along  the  distance  with  innumerable  towers 
and  palaces,  all  enchanted  into  sudden  brilliance. 
But,  best  of  all,  dear  old  San  Lazaro  took  my 
fancy,  —  a  convent  where  the  twenty  religieux 
who  now  dwell  there  must  pass  a  heaven  of 
peace  and  sunnyness  and  gentle  calm.  The 
crimson  of  its  oleanders  and  the  whiteness  of  its 
blossoming  magnolias,  the  blaze  of  its  geraniums 
and  the  slender  shafts  of  its  cypresses,  the  vine- 
trellised  pillars  and  long  succession  of  cool  clois- 
ters, are  now  before  me.  I  could  not  keep  my 
eyes  off  the  marvelous  views  from  the  windows. 
Picture-galleries,    curiosities,    scientific    cabinet, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  / 

the  noble  library  of  thirty  thousand  volumes  in 
vellum,  all  were  as  nothing  to  this  splendor  and 
shock  and  surprise  of  ever  succeeding  beauty. 
"What  a  beautiful  view  you  have  here,"  said 
I  to  the  guide  in  French,  when  we  came  into 
the  ornithological  department,  where  numbers  of 
bright-plumed  birds  and  butterflies  looked  out 
from  their  glass  cases  on  us,  and  the  ceiling  was 
one  sheet  of  sunny  painting.  "  Bellisima  !  "  said 
the  gentle  padre,  forgetting  his  French  and  gaz- 
ing wistfully  out  on  the  magnificent  landscape 
stretched  in  blue  and  gold  before  us.  There 
were  Armenian  inscriptions  everywhere  ;  one  over 
the  refectory  door  that  he  interpreted  for  me : 
"  Silence."  He  showed  me  pictures  of  their 
gorgeous  canonical  robes,  a  volume  of  Arme- 
nian liturgies  printed  in  thirty  different  lan- 
guages, photographs  of  George  Lord  Byron  (one 
of  which  we  purchased),  pictures  of  the  convent 
garden  (a  blessed  spot  of  sunshine  and  blossom- 
ing sweetness),  memories  of  the  convent  in  many 
a  widely-separated  speech,  Turkish  proverbs 
translated  into  English,  ancient  illuminated  MSS., 
etc.  I  was  loath  to  leave.  What  a  strange  con- 
trast between  this  poetic  quietude  and  fullness 
of  refinement  and  the  wild  cries  of  the  madmen 
as  we  passed  their  asylum  quite  near !  Such  con- 
trasts are  found  everywhere  in  life. 

I  did  not   at  first  understand   my  gondoliere, 


8  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

and  thought  the  He  des  Fous  was  a  hospital  and 
they  were  having  a  sort  of  Hospital  Sunday, 
there  seemed  such  a  wild  gayety  in  their  cries. 
The  whole  immense  establishment  seemed  vocal 
with  noises,  singing,  shouting,  quick  talk,  and  in- 
distinguishable murmurs.  There  is  a  sparkle  in 
these  poor  Italian  people  that  not  even  madness 
can  quench.  What  uncanny  vivacity  they  have, 
how  their  eyes  flash  at  nothing,  —  those  crystal- 
line lenses  of  fire  and  dew ;  how  they  gesticulate 
and  intone  in  their  melodious  language  !  We 
found  the  cries  of  the  boatmen  of  Venice  very 
interesting.  They  have  a  peculiar  warning  cry 
when  they  are  turning  a  corner,  and  even  carry 
on  animated  dialogues  as  they  pass  one  another, 
having  a  laugh  or  a  jest  for  everybody,  —  the 
straw-hatted,  blue-ribboned,  bright-sashed  ras- 
cals !  I  am  told  they  are  a  most  honorable  class. 
A  class  of  superannuated  gondolier!  eke  out  a 
miserable  life  by  hauling  in  the  gondolas  that 
land  at  different  places  and  making  them  secure. 
I  thought  they  were  impertinent  lazzaroni  and 
generally  turned  away  impatiently  till  I  heard 
their  sad  story.  Many  of  them  wear  a  caftan. 
In  Venice  the  flower-girls  will  put  a  bouquet  into 
your  button-hole,  so  you  had  just  as  well  submit; 
and  the  caramelle  sellers  with  their  basket  of  dain- 
ties, their  cherries,  or  little  sharp  sticks,  dipped  in 
syrup,  etc.,  are  a  constant  annoyance.     And  the 


GREEK   VIGNETTES.  9 

women  in  men's  hats  carrying  huge  copper  buck- 
ets of  water  from  the  fountains  in  the  Doge's 
Palace  !  And  these  fountains,  themselves  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  with  beautifully  moulded  bas- 
reliefs  in  copper,  too  !  And  the  pigeons  in 
legions  that  haunt  the  square  and  light  all  over 
you  if  you  throw  them  anything.  What  a  fan- 
tastic place  is  Venice  ! 

Well,  the  whole  evening  after  we  left  Trieste 
was  one  of  singular  loveliness.  The  steamer  was 
not  fast  and  we  had  time  to  take  in  the  varied 
sea  and  landscapes  that  passed  panoramically 
before  us.  On  one  side,  the  dim  Euganean  Hills 
overhung  by  the  dazzling  apparition  of  the  Aus- 
trian Alps,  for  they  were  as  faint  as  an  appari- 
tion ;  on  the  other,  the  picturesquely  indented 
shore  of  Istria,  dotted  with  villages  and  cam- 
paniles, curving  harbors  and  long  lines  of  white 
hamlets  stretching  along  it.  The  Adriatic  was 
alive  with  fishers  and  their  boats ;  some  with 
bright  yellow  sails,  others  with  brilliant  red, 
others  with  red  and  yellow  stripes,  and  still  others 
painted,  some  with  crosses  and  globes,  others  with 
regular  pictures.  Many  of  them  were  leg-of-mut- 
ton rigged  schooners.  They  looked  like  bright 
birds  skimming  over  the  clear  green  water,  part- 
ing it  into  a  long  white  moustache  of  brilliant 
foam,  and  speeding  it  like  Homer's  €7rea  Trrep- 
o€vra.     Trieste  harbor  was  full  of  them  as  well 


lO  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

as  of  picturesque  costumes,  —  Greek,  Turk,  Dal- 
matian, and  Albanian  peasants,  Portuguese,  ne- 
groes, and  dark-visaged,  wide-trousered  mariners 
from  all  parts.  The  harbor  abounded  in  ship- 
ping, too.  Trieste  is  the  seat  of  one  branch  of 
the  immense  Lloyd  corporation,  and  their  office 
there  is  a  palace  in  its,  proportions.  We  passed 
one  light-house  and  castle  after  another ;  one 
arrowy  campanile  and  church-spire  after  another ; 
and  the  sun  set  in  a  sea  of  gold  and  lighted  up 
the  mighty  amphitheatre  like  the  vast  candela- 
brum of  some  giant  opera-house.  I  remarked 
the  velvety  sheen  and  softness  of  the  sky,  an 
appearance  which  I  had  never  noticed  before. 
It  was  like  the  thickest,  softest  quilted  silk. 
With  us  and  in  our  metallically  white  light  there 
is  no  such  radiance  of  softness  ;  no  such  color  as 
of  cream-tinted  porcelain. 

Wearied  with  so  much  beauty,  we  went  down 
to  our  state-room  and  took  a  nap,  —  not,  however, 
before  we  had  dined.  An  odd  dinner  it  was,  too  ! 
It  consisted  of  five  or  six  courses,  all  more  or 
less  meagre  and  curious.  The  first  was  a  mimic 
mountain  of  rice  permeated  with  some  sort  of 
gravy  and  moulded  artistically  on  a  great  platter ; 
then  a  course  of  sardines  and  olive  oil  and  slices 
of  thin,  round  sausage  ;  then  roast  or  fried  veal 
and  potatoes  ;  then  cheese  and  bread.;  then  wild 
strawberries  with   lemon-juice  ;  then   some  deli- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  II 

cious  cherries.  When  I  came  up  on  deck  again, 
about  9  o'clock,  the  full  moon  was  flooding  the 
eastern  sea  with  gold,  —  a  long  river  of  rippling 
illumination  more  pearly-soft  than  anything  we 
know  in  our  sharp  climate.  After  enjoying  the 
glorious  warm  breeze  I  went  below,  and,  despite 
nocturnal  visitors,  slept  well. 

The  ship,  which  is  a  small  one,  rolled  somewhat 
in  the  night.  The  captain  fortunately  speaks 
English,  which  nobody  else  on  board  seems  to  do, 
but  some  of  the  engineers,  I  am  told,  speak  Ger- 
man. We  arrived  here  (Ancona)  early  this  morn- 
ing. Immediately  the  ship  was  surrounded  by 
clamorous  boatmen,  dancing  about  with  astonish- 
ing volubility,  out-doing  one  another  in  bids  for 
passengers,  of  which  there  were  very  few.  It  is 
truly  a  "  magneefecent "  coast,  as  the  captain 
says  with  his  strong  Italian  accent.  There  are 
two  moles  which  hem  in  the  harbor  on  each  side 
and  create  a  fine  and  spacious  basin  for  ships. 
We  are  at  anchor,  and  remain  here  till  lo  to- 
night. I  shall  go  ashore  presently  and  make  a 
few  explorations.  The  cathedral  is,  they  say, 
worth  seeing.  I  hear  many  bells  ringing,  as  one 
always  does  in  Italian  towns.  We  even  heard  the 
scream  of  the  railway  whistle  just  now.  The 
coast  is  precipitous  and  the  houses  are  built 
one  above  another.  The  cathedral  stands  in  the 
most  striking  place  of  all,  and   there   are  vari- 


12  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

ous  picturesque  fortifications  crowning  different 
heights. 

The  water  at  Ancona  is  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful color,  —  light  green  in  the  harbor  and  dark 
green  in  the  Adriatic.  The  line  where  they  join 
is  distinctly  seen.  Near  us  is  a  queer  lugger  with 
leg-of-mutton  rig,  full  of  fishermen.  Her  sails 
are  greenish  yellow  and  black.  At  a  distance 
there  are  two  others  with  gaudily  painted  sails 
flung  gayly  in  the  wind.  The  passenger  boats 
have  awnings.  What  a  fresh,  vivid  breeze  comes 
in  from  the  sea !  No  color-box  could  rival  these 
hues  of  Italian  sea  and  land.  There  were  some 
queer-looking  steerage  passengers  on  board  with 
green  and  whitfi  sashes,  sandals,  full  breeches, 
and  oriental  caps.  They  slept  on  a  piece  of  tar- 
paulin under  the  open  sky  all  night,  I  believe. 
This  morning  at  6.30  we  had  cafe  noir  or  cafe  au- 
lait^  as  we  liked,  with  bread  and  crackers.  At  1 1 
there  is  a  dejeiiner  a  la  fourchette.  Our  awning 
makes  grateful  shade,  for  the  sun  is  exceedingly 
bright.  Everywhere  over  the  water  I  hear  the 
quick  gallop  of  the  Italian  tongue.  There  seems 
to  be  no  particular  sentence-accent  to  it,  no  in- 
flections like  the  French  or  English.  It  is  quick, 
sharp,  rolling,  and  monotonous  gobble,  gobble, 
gobble.  On  our  ship  we  are  given  four  meals  a 
day,  —  matfina,  tea  or  coffee  with  bread  ;  colazio?ie 
(luncheon),  eggs,  two  hot  dishes,  salami,  cheese, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 3 

fruit,  and  bread,  cafe  noir ;  pranzo  (dinner  at  5), 
soup,  four  hot  dishes,  pie  or  pudding,  fruit  and 
cheese ;  sera  (supper),  tea  or  coffee,  with  milk  or 
spirits,  bread  and  butter.  Wine  is  extra.  There 
is  change  of  plates,  even  if  you  take  a  sardine. 
Olives,  pickles,  and  condiments  are  used  in  abun- 
dance as  a  sort  of  alimentary  oakum  to  fill  up  the 
chinks.  Lemon-juice  on  the  strawberries  is  deli- 
cious and  gives  a  peculiar  and  pleasant  piquancy. 
The  Italians,  like  the  Germans,  eat  with  their 
knives  and  fingers.  Yesterday,  in  the  Hotel  de 
la  Ville  at  Trieste,  we  were  given  grated  cheese 
to  sprinkle  in  our  soup,  and  there  was  (as  a  rarity) 
wine  at  the  table  d'hote.  An  ugly,  scrofulous- 
faced  Italian,  too,  ogled  and  grimaced,  as  he  im- 
provised and  drank  healths  in  champagne  to  a 
lady.  He  had  a  singularly  malign  and  sinister 
face,  hardly  any  nose,  and  a  great,  wide,  flat  face 
and  gleaming  teeth.  He  wore  a  pair  of  huge  eye- 
glasses and  grinned  perpetually.  The  whole  menu 
reeked  of  grease. 

Trieste  is  a  gay  place,  so  full  of  sailors  and 
moving  population.  I  noticed  countless  white 
steers  yoked  singly  or  in  twos  to  wagons.  This 
seems  to  be  a  favorite  draft  animal  with  the 
Triestais,  The  scene  in  the  fish-market  was  very 
lively  —  fruits,  flowers,  fish,  and  vegetables,  all  in 
heterogeneous  confusion,  everybody  shouting  and 
trafficking,  the  cockers  winking   at  you  to   take 


14  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

their  vehicles,  the  flower-sellers  thrusting  pinks 
and  violets  into  your  hands,  the  lazzaroni  yawning 
and  begging,  the  air  white  with  limestone  dust, 
through  which  the  sun  beamed,  like  snow,  straw- 
berries and  cherries  and  oranges  in  tons,  equally 
attractive  to  flies,  urchins,  and  market-people. 
The  town-hall  and  theatre  are  fine  buildings.  I 
no  sooner  entered  the  hotel  than  I  was  pounced 
upon  by  a  lantern-jawed  commissionnaire  who  with 
ready  ofliciousness  insisted  on  doing  everything 
for  me  in  a  trice,  —  get  my  ticket,  take  my  name, 
guide  me  about,  drive  me  to  Miramar,  change 
my  money,  flood  me  with  miscellaneous  informa- 
tion ;  in  short,  lick  my  boots  and  pick  my  pock- 
ets, if  necessary.  A  cringing,  saucy  creature,  a 
sort  of  ambidexter  in  humility  and  insolence.  I 
have  an  instinctive  aversion  to  such  fellows,  and 
they  seem  to  have  an  instinctive  affinity  for  me. 
As  soon  as  he  found  I  could  speak  a  little  Ger- 
man and  get  along  very  well  for  myself,  that  was 
quite  sufficient ;  I  was  dropped  like  a  hot  cake, 
and  had  no  more  trouble  with  ,the  fellow.  These 
men  are  often  unprincipled  scoundrels.  Every- 
where money  is  stolen  from  one  when  changed 
by  hotel-clerks,  stewards,  etc.  An  Englishwoman 
whom  we  met  in  Venice,  and  who  knew  them 
well,  said  she  never  saw  such  people  for  lying 
and  bribery  as  the  Italians.  "If  you  could  only 
believe  one  word  they  say ! ''  said  she.     I  had  it 


^^      ^         GREEK   VIGNETTES.  1 5 

exemplified  in  Trieste,  where  a  lying  omnibus- 
driver  came  near  convincing  me  that  the  vessel 
sailed  at  10  and  not  at  4,  when  I  was  rescued 
from  his  claws  by  some  of  the  by-standers.  He 
took  the  rebuff  with  the  utmost  coolness,  and 
said,  "  Well,  the  gentleman  could  deposit  his  bag- 
gage at  the  steamer  !  " 

And  the  insolent  head-waiters,  camerieri^  som- 
meliers,  and  oberkellner  one  meets  in  England, 
France,  and  Germany !  Creatures  in  white  neck- 
tie (which  ought  to  be  the  gallows-string  of  half 
of  them)  and  swallow-tail,  side-whiskers  and  hair 
parted  in  the  middle,  "  foolish,  fat  scullions  ''  as 
full  of  puff  and  self-importance  as  one  of  Coins' 
bags  was  with  wind.  I  cherish  the  profoundest 
horror  of  these  important  personages.  They 
meet  you  at  the  hotel  door  and  greet  you  lovingly 
when  you  are  departing  in  the  hope  of  a  franc  or 
a  lira  or  whatever  it  is.  I  never  give  them  any- 
thing if  I  can  possibly  avoid  it.  But  the  faithful 
hausknecht  or  boots,  often  with  a  wife  and  nu- 
merous offspring,  ought  always  to  be  remembered. 
The  steward  on  the  steamship  Spain  (our  Atlan- 
tic steamer)  who  performed  this  office  was  the 
most  ghastly-looking  object  from  loss  of  sleep 
and  ill-health  I  ever  saw.  He  said  he  made  up 
for  it  by  sleeping  on  land  !  On  our  present  ship 
there  is  a  framed  notice  in  five  languages,  —  Eng- 
lish, German,  French,  Italian,  and  Greek,  —  giving 


1 6  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

various  notices  to  the  passengers,  with  a  table  of 
wine-tariffs  and  a  table  of  values  for  gold  coins. 
The  vivacious  Greeks  will,  I  suppose,  cheat  us 
out  of  half  our  remaining  possessions  through  our 
ignorance  of  their  complicated  currency,  drachmcB, 
lepta,  oboli,  colonnati,  tallari,  and  what  not.  Span- 
ish dollars  of  six  drachmae  are  their  favorite  coin. 
Gold  coins  are  scarce  in  Greece.  I  believe  they 
even  still  reckon  in  Turkish  piastres.  The  So- 
cratic  oboltis,  used  still  in  Greece,  is  an  imaginary 
coin  like  thQ  paolo  in  Italy,  and  the  shilling  with 
us.  Every  contract  with  inn-keepers,  muleteers, 
and  boatmen  must  be  made  in  writing  or  every- 
thing will  turn  out  to  one's  disadvantage.  If  I 
escape  from  them  as  well  as  Lord  Byron  did  from 
Dr.  Romaneirs  prescriptions  I  shall  be  happy. 

The  mosquitoes  will  be  annoying,  as  they  were 
in  Venice.  What  does  Baedeker  mean  by  a  "  sort 
of  gnats  with  gauze  wings  ?  "  ^  And  Murray 
speaks  of  "gnats,"  which  are  entirely  different 
things.  One  already  thirsts  for  the  delicious  land 
scenery  of  Greece,  over  which  even  Murray  grows 
poetic.  The  habit  of  making  guide-books  and 
binding  them  in  red  leather  is  fatal  to  the  imagi- 
nation. What  imagination  can  there  be  in  these 
mechanical     manufactures,    guide-books,    which 

1  Helas  !  I  bitterly  found  out  what  Baedeker  meant  after 
a  few  days  in  Athens.  The  Greek  K(i>vcj-ip  and  CKlf  are  not 
agreeable  acquaintances. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  I J 

some  enterprising  firm  engages  a  Peregrine  Pickle 
to  write  up  for  it  at  short  notice,  and  which  dis- 
course of  everything  —  scenery,  customs,  geog- 
raphy, geology,  currency,  hotels,  and  vermin  —  in 
the  same  breath ;  alternate  pictures  of  the  Par- 
thenon, and  Maynard's  Patent  Protector  against 
Bugs ;  the  street  of  Tombs  with  Sir  George 
Somebody's  chinchifuge  ?  It  sets  one's  head  in  a 
whirl.  Quotations  from  the  Odyssey  and  Iliad 
will  not  consort  with  lazzaroni,  thieves,  and  free 
pratique.  How  much  better  are  Augustus  Hare's 
charming  "Walks!"  But  as  soon  as  a  guide-book 
sets  about  a  determined  and  resolute  description 
of  a  point,  nearly  all  the  interest  vanishes  and 
the  reader  becomes  the  prey  of  desperate  ennui. 
Far  more  pleasant  is  a  "  Rambles  in  Greece " 
like  Mahaffy's,  or  a  "  Grece  Contemporaine  "  by 
About,  —  books  which  really  interest ;  the  one  a 
work  of  genius,  the  other  a  work  of  scholarship. 
A  set  guide-book  is  an  infinite  weariness.  Inter- 
ested as  one  is  in  all  that  relates  to  modern  and 
ancient  Greece,  it  is  all  but  impossible  to  get  up 
an  interest  in  Murray's  compilation.  The  whole 
subject  petrifies  as  if  it  had  been  dipped  in  an 
Irish  bog.  Set  adjectives  are  doled  out  here  and 
there ;  iron  routes  are  laid  down  and  planted  be- 
fore you  like  railways ;  gulfs,  rivers,  seas,  and 
lakes  freeze  as  you  read  about  them ;  classical 
topography  becomes  a  monstrous  bore,  and  ThuT 
17 


I  8  GREEK   VIGNETTES, 

cydides  and  Sophocles  automatons  milling  out 
quotations  that  all  invariably  appear  singularly 
infelicitous.  Where  is  the  purple  sheen  of  the 
Greek  seas,  the  sculptured,  sunny  coast,  the  infi- 
nite breeziness  and  beauty  of  the  island  pictures 
and  panoramas,  the  ilex  and  arbutus-clad  heights 
and  promontories,  the  sites  of  the  temples  on 
starry  altitudes,  the  dreaming  and  desolate  cities 
which  Cicero  so  pathetically  mourned ;  in  short, 
the  whole  movement  and  dance  and  gayety  and 
pathos  of  Greek  scenery  ?  It  becomes  naught 
under  such  processes  of  disenchantment.  Guide- 
books are  purely  commercial  enterprises.  They 
lack  the  essential  characteristic,  —  purposeless- 
ness.  So  soon  as  you  set  to  work  to  tell  people 
all  about  a  thing  you  in  reality  tell  them  nothing. 
It  is  looking  for  the  fairy-ring  in  broad  daylight. 
The  fairy-land  of  Greece  loves  an  uncertain  moon- 
light of  inquiry,  —  a  careless,  lover-like  traveler 
who  takes  in  the  weird  richness  of  the  air  and 
water  and  land  without  building  roads  through 
them  or  erecting  works  of  engineering  on  Calypso's 
isle.  Hence  the  marvelous  charm  of  Hawthorne's 
incidental  descriptions,  and  passages  in  Gautier's 
oriental  travels.  Lamartine  and  Chateaubriand, 
Goethe  and  Emerson  have  the  same  gift.  Travel- 
ing with  such  guides  over  Greece  would  be  divine. 
It  is  a  wonder  that  publishers  don't  engage  men 
of  real  genius  to  do  their  work.     Such  compila- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 9 

tions  as  even  the  best  American-European  guides 
are  intolerable.  The  English  is  poor,  the  descrip- 
tions mechanical,  the  information  meagre,  and  the 
tone  false.  I  left  A.  at  home  in  disgust,  —  a 
work  which  professed  to  run  over  the  whole  of 
Europe  in  one  volume,  octavo.  A  pretty  mess  it 
makes  of  it,  too  !  As  well  print  and  bind  the  waves 
of  the  Atlantic.  And  then,  in  the  loquacious  com- 
mission naire-like  desire  to  tell  you  everything, 
they  tell  you  nothing  and  leave  your  hands  full  of 
ashes  like  Dead  Sea  apples.  I  carried  such  a 
pack  of  printed  scoriae  with  me  to  Europe  one  sum- 
mer, —  one  of  those  universal  guides  and  gazet- 
teers, —  and  resolved  never  to  do  so  again.  Here, 
in  the  very  face  of  Greece,  one  feels  Greece  oozing 
away  from  one  through  Murray's  fingers.  I  fear 
I  shall  be  completely  desillusio7ine  by  the  time  I 
get  there.  How  can  you  enjoy  a  mountain  when 
you  are  told  exactly  how  many  feet  high  it  is,  its 
latitude  and  longitude,  productions,  barometric, 
thermometric,  and  diabolic  and  geologic  changes, 
distances  from  such  and  such  unpronounceable 
points,  botany,  and  general  constitution  }  Does 
not  the  whole  thing  become  like  the  labeled 
horrors  of  a  zoological  museum  ?  Of  course  it 
is  undeniable  that  there  is  much  indispensable 
information  given,  —  customs,  passports,  money, 
servants,  hotels,  shops  and  shopping,  quarantine 
steamers,  consuls,  and  routes ;  but  a  book  like 


20  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

Bradshaw  does  all  this  and  more,  for  it  does  not 
pretend  to  go  into  elaborate  pen-and-ink  delinea- 
tions. You  expect  more  from  a  red  leather  oc- 
tavo that  cost  fifteen  shillings. 

The  sail  from  Ancona  to  Brindisi  was  delight- 
ful, —  cloudless  skies  and  perfect  nights.  Occa- 
sionally we  would  meet  a  felucca,  curiously  rigged 
and  full  of  wild-looking  mariners,  such  as  the 
author  of  "  Eothen  "  describes,  —  a  great  broad- 
bottomed  Homeric  o-xehiiq^  with  three  or  four  fan- 
tastic triangular  sails  arranged  at  different  an- 
gles to  one  another,  —  purely,  as  it  would  seem, 
for  pictorial  effect,  for  they  are  the  most  unpracti- 
cal of  sails  conceivable,  and  let  all  the  wind  go  by. 
How  fanciful  and  picture-like  they  looked,  on  the 
breezy  Adriatic,  almost  out  of  sight  of  land !  I 
nearly  always  noticed  two  together,  —  Jesuits  of 
the  sea.  Heaven  only  knows  what  the  dialect  of 
these  fishermen  is.  At  Corfu  they  put  Greek  ter- 
minations to  their  Italian.  The  speech  of  this  en- 
tire region  is  an  indescribable  mosaic,  —  Turkish, 
Albanian,  Italian,  Greek,  and  Spanish  patois,  the 
pigeon-English  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  coast 
of  Italy  was  dimly  descried  all  day  yesterday.  I 
could  see  the  snow-surtouted  Apennines,  peering, 
vision-like,  through  sun-lit  mist.  The  opposite 
Greek  coast  was,  of  course,  too  distant  for  obser- 
vation. Our  little  steamer  sails  along  blandly 
and  hardily,  without  saying  aught  to  anybody. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  21 

There  is  no  observation-taking,  nor  dividing  the 
day  into  bells,  nor  comparison  of  local  with  chro- 
nometer time,  as  on  the  Atlantic,  not  even  a 
plummet  let  down,  or  a  knot-measure.  They  go 
straight  ahead,  apparently  by  the  dead  reckoning. 
Our  captain's  favorite  exclamation  is,  "Ah,  diav- 
olo  !  Ah,  diavoli !  "  He  is  a  sharp-eyed,  pigeon- 
toed  Italian,  with  a  peremptory  air  and  a  light 
step.  There  is  now  no  passenger  beside  myself. 
We  got  to  Brindisi  very  early  this  morning.  A 
small,  sinuous,  river-like  harbor,  with  little  ship- 
ping and  not  much  capacity.  Vergil  died  here, 
and  (curious  association  of  ideas!)  the  famous 
Appian  Way  had  its  end  at  the  same  Brindisi. 
How  pleasant  it  would  be  to  read  the  "  Voyage 
to  Brundusium  "  here.  It  is  a  pretty  place,  a 
gleaming  sea  and  atmosphere,  ships  coaling, 
row-boats  innumerable  skimming  the  rippling 
water,  half  naked  lazzaroni  lounging  on  the  quay, 
pink  and  yellow  and  white  houses  lining  the 
shore,  feluccas  flinging  their  light  sails  to  the 
wind,  an  antique  column  rising  and  overlooking 
the  harbor,  the  strange-windowed  Hotel  des  In- 
des  Orientales  with  its  rose-colored  fagade,  the 
bright  green  water  curled  into  an  infinite  emerald 
irregularity,  and  the  softest  of  breezes,  —  alto- 
gether a  gay  little  picture.  To-day  we  had  deli- 
cious figs  and  apricots  for  lunch.  Also  grilled 
tomatoes '  with  veal,  stuffed  veal  with  green  peas 


22  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

and  gravy,  an  omelette  and  cafe  nero,  which  is 
good  fare  for  an  Italian  ship.  The  state-rooms, 
small  as  our  vessel  is,  are  the  most  comfortable  I 
have  ever  inhabited,  and  I  am  no  inconsiderable 
traveler.  There  are  two  stewards  or  camerieri, 
- —  a  tall,  loud-voiced  one,  and  a  small,  frowsy- 
haired  one.  The  tea  and  coffee  we  get  on  board 
are  the  only  drinkable  tea  and  coffee  I  have  en- 
countered on  the  sea.  The  Italians  certainly  ex- 
cel in  coffee  and  in  ice-cream. 

A  scene  of  exquisite  beauty  is  before  me.  The 
Ionian  Sea,  like  the  most  dazzling  blue  silk,  lies 
in  front.  On  the  coast  is  the  lofty  and  barren 
Albanian  mountain-range,  treeless  and  desolate, 
cleaving  the  lucid  atmosphere  like  a  sharp  scim- 
itar, and  seamed  and  indented  with  mountain 
torrents  and  caves.'  They  are  full  of  silvery  blue 
shadows.  In  this  cloth-of-gold  air  what  a  dis- 
tance one  can  see !  We  have  just  passed  a  white 
limestone  island,  apparently  uninhabited  ;  others 
are  scattered,  like  silver  on  opal,  over  the  blue 
Ionian.  We  are  approaching  Corfu,  the  Corcyra 
of  the  ancients,  identified  by  Thucydides  with  the 
Phaeacia  of  the  Odyssey.  If  so,  we  are  in  the 
fairy-land  of  Homer.  I  have  seen,  as  yet,  but 
one  light-house  on  all  these  islands  ;  an  occa- 
sional felucca  dipping  up  on  the  horizon,  or  a 
ship-like  crag  at  a  great  distance.  '  The  air 
seems  full  of  Penelope's  web,  —  a  delicate  irritat- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  23 

ing  gauze,  that  makes  a  wonder-land  of  all  these 
rugged  rocks,  but  worries  and  thwarts  you.  Was 
there  ever  a  storm  in  these  placid  seas  ?  Can 
we  here  enter  into  the  experiences  of  Odysseus 
on  his  tempestuous  wanderings  ?  -^  This  blue  and 
silvery  beauty  is  indeed  that  "  azure  morn "  of 
which  Theocritus  speaks,  — a  morn  that  colors 
the  seas,  paints  the  atmosphere,  makes  the  mount- 
ains opalescent,  and  touches  the  horizon  with 
milky  whiteness.  This  looks  like  a  vast  lake. 
The  most  beautiful  white  clouds  hang  pictur- 
esquely over  the  peaks  of  the  Albanian  range,  scat- 
tering opaque  but  prismatic  shadows  all  over  its 
sides  and  letting  in  a  flood  of  sunbeams  to  illu- 
mine sharply  other  portions.  The  scenery  just 
here  reminds  one  of  Lake  Champlain. 

We  took  on  several  new  passengers  at  Brindisi, 
—  a  blonde  and  a  brun  Italian,  strange-costumed 
steerage  passengers,  etc.  At  breakfast  we  were 
all  quite  funereal;  spending  the  time  alternately 
eating  and  casting  furtive  glances  at  one  another. 
Not  a  word  was  said.  A  melee  of  rice  and  gravy, 
seasoned  with  tomatoes  and  garnished  with  chick- 
en-livers, was  one  of  our  dishes.  They  poach  eggs 
capitally,  and  the  fruit  continues  good.  How  one 
could  sail  a  life-time  away  on  such  water,  —  wind- 
less, stormless,  rimmed  in  by  fairy  mountains,  lit- 

1  Kinglake  considered  Odysseus'  voyage  of  ten  years 
from  Troy  to  Ithaca  quite  moderate  ! 


24  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

erally  spangled  with  bright  islands,  cloudless,  sap- 
phire-iridescent, a  silvery  infinitude,  land-locked, 
—  not  even  a  gull  to  be  seen,  nor  a  white-sailed 
felucca.  It  is  the  land  of  the  Lotus-eaters  —  of 
the  afternoon.  This  must  be  Corfu  in  front  of 
us,  —  a  long,  irregular,  mountainous  island,  look- 
ing as  if  it  had  basked  in  the  pitiless  sunlight 
since  the  Pisistratidae,  with  a  white  gleam  along 
the  shore  as  of  surf,  or  sunlight,  or  sand,  dotted 
over  with  spare  trees,  all  standing  so  wonderfully 
revealed,  like  a  piece  of  sculpture.  Cypresses 
puncture  the  air  in  groups,  and  soft  slopes  and 
swells  are  beginning  to  heave  in  sight.  The  Al- 
banian shore  continues  grand  and  blue-gray.  We 
run  within  a  short  distance  of  it.  One  end  of 
Corfu  is  only  a  mile  or  so  off  from  the  Albanian 
main-land,  —  that  province  which  has  given  the 
national  dress  to  the  Greeks,  the  descendants  of 
the  ancient  Illyrians,  whose  language  Whitney 
puts  down  with  Etruscan  and  Basque,  as  possi- 
bly Indo-European.  I  see  houses  here  and  there, 
and  what  seem  like  farms  on  the  Corfu  side. 
Not  a  human  dwelling  on  the  opposite  coast.  A 
light-house  on  a  cream-colored  rock,  rising  out  of 
the  blue  sea,  is  just  on  the  left.  There  is  a  mar- 
velous calm-  over  everything.  What  little  wind 
there  is  is  behind  us.  A  ship  in  full  sail  is  just 
along-side.  The  wonderful  panorama  of  the 
Strait  of  Corfu  opens  before  us  :  long  vanishing 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  25 

lines  of  ethereal-looking  mountains,  a  sky  dyed 
with  the  intense  pale  blue  of  great  heat,  "dark 
purple  spheres  of  sea''  and  "summer  isles  of 
Eden,"  passionate  color  on  earth  and  sky, 
bald  crags  and  precipices,  ever-looming  dis- 
tances hung  with  islands  as  with  purple  fruits : 
behind  us  the  dazzling  curve  of  sea  down  which 
we  have  come,  with  a  marble-like  islet  in  the  fore- 
ground touched  here  and  there  with  arbutus  and 
olive,  and  the  grand  azure  arm  of  the  Albanian 
Mountains,  reaching  scythe-like  around  the  outer 
edge  of  our  course  —  all  is  one  wavy  world  of 
luminous  water,  carved  into  scintillant  gulfs  and 
indentations  against  the  bosom  of  the  opposing 
coasts.  It  looks  more  as  if  we  were  sailing  in 
the  sky  than  on  the  sea.  They  speak  of  fearful 
hurricanes  and  thunder-storms  in  these  seas. 
As  well  speak  of  hurricanes  and  thunder-storms 
in  Paradise.  The  moon  w^as  as  sunny  as  an  ap- 
ricot last  night.  To-day  the  sun  has  powdered 
the  air  with  gold  dust.  There  is  heat,  but  it  is 
tempered  by  the  salt  sea.  I  do  not  see  how  we 
shall  escape  from  this  thick  woven  net  of  coast, 
—  coast  in  front,  behind,  on  each  side.  But  on 
we  go,  with  the  wind  changed  and  blowing  right 
in  our  faces. 

There  is  a  great  stalwart  Greek  promenading 
up  and  dowm  the  lower  deck  dressed  in  white 
petticoats,   long    white    stockings,   loose    green 


26  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

jacket,  and  red  caftan,  with  gaiters.  Another  in 
a  vivid  red  caftan  with  long,  pendant  blue  tassel, 
close-fitting  jacket,  wide  blue  cottonnade  trousers 
gathered  at  the  knee,  and  white  stockings. 

Looking  back  behind  our  ship  is  even  more 
wonderful  than  looking  forward.  It  is  like  the 
finest  scenery  of  Lake  Como  or  Lago  Maggiore, 
—  the  sea  one  sheet  of  waveless  blue,  the  atmos- 
phere so  limpid  that  you  seem  to  see  behind  the 
mountains  whose  crests  stand  out  in  it  in  a  thou- 
sand bright  and  illustrated  forms,  ships  becalme<^ 
in  this  Circe-like  lake,  a  flight  of  tremulous  zeph- 
yrs hovering  about  your  face  and  hair  all  the 
time,  the  whole  one  picture  of  radiance  and  vo- 
luptuousness. I  am  obliged  to  abandon  my 
blood-and-thunder  Italian  romance  every  moment 
to  gaze  on  this  enchanting  landscape.  It  is  the 
crystal  sky  of  Hellas,  the  "  surpassing  ether  "  of 
Euripides,  the  land  of  the  snowy  egret  and  the 
crested  hoopoe,  of  light  and  affability  and  brill- 
iance. We  shall  soon  be  passing  down  the  huge 
Acroceraunian  Mountains,  in  among  the  islands 
scattered  like  a  shivered  necklace  over  the  sea,  — > 
Zante,  Cephalonia,  Cerigo,  —  islands  full  of  wine 
and  sharp  aromatic  scents,  silver-leaved  olives 
and  glowing  oleander.  There  is  indescribable 
refreshment  in  this  light,  buoyant  air.  Though  it 
is  hot,  there  is  an  elasticity  and  a  joyousness  in 
it  that  does  not  inspire  languor.     It  is  not  the 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  27 

attar-of-roses  atmosphere  of  Italy.  There  is  a 
spice  of  Greek  airiness  and  lightsomeness  in  it, 
just  the  difference  between  a  winged  epigram  of 
Archilochus  and  an  ode  of  Petrarch.  But  yonder 
is  Corfu  in  sight,  —  the  city !  How  it  steals  on 
one  out  of  its  sunny  corner,  with  the  high  mount- 
ain behind,  concealed,  as  it  were,  in  the  folds  of 
this  shining  atmosphere.  I  wondered  what  we 
were  making  straight  for. 

What  a  place  of  thronging  memories  is  Corfu. 
The  oldest  sea-fight  on  record  was  fought  by  the 
Corcyraeans.  Here  harbored  the  great  Athenian 
fleet  before  the  fatal  expedition  to  Sicily.  A  few 
miles  off,  in  a  small  bay  "  hardly  large  enough," 
said  Lord  Byron,  "  for  two  frigates  to  manoeuvre 
in,''  took  place  the  Battle  of  Actium.  A  little 
farther  down,  in  1571,  occurred  the  Battle  of  Le- 
panto.  Innumerable  souvenirs  of  Greeks  and 
crusaders,  Venetians  and  Turks,  cluster  about 
the  place.  Christian  and  profane  have  fought 
for  it.  Jew  and  Gentile  have  rested  and  wrestled 
there.  Greek  temples  and  grand  Venetian  forti- 
fications have  crowned  and  still  crown  in  part  its 
lovely  crags.  The  island  is  a  spacious  park,  a 
paradise,  in  the  sense  of  Xenophon  and  the  Ori- 
ent, of  currant  vineyards,  myrtle,  arbutus,  the  glo- 
rious blossomed  rhododaphne,  gnarled  olives, 
wild  aloe  and  cactus,  orange  groves  and  mastic. 
Its  situation  is  really  incomparable.     It  is  a  kind 


28  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

of  semicircle  of  tall,  interlaced  houses  and  for- 
tresses, Greek  churches,  fci/oSox^ta,  arcaded  prom- 
enades like  an  Italian  city,  and  cypress-tufted 
slopes.  How  warm  and  soft-tinted  the  yellow 
and  red  houses  looked  in  the  brilliant  sunset 
yesterday  evening !  With  my  glass  I  could  al- 
most see  what  they  had  for  table  d'hote  at  the 
H€voSo;(€tov  KcDi/cTavrtvovTroXt?,  the  first  Greek  hotel 
in  the  Levant  I  have  seen.  And  what  flight  and 
tarantella-dance  of  swallows  in  the  air  over  the 
steep  roof  and  the  minaret-like  cypresses.  The 
whole  burg  and  town  of  Corfu  glowed  with  rich- 
ness and  harmony  in  the  vesper  light.  In  front, 
a  lovely  bit  of  color  in  the  shape  of  the  soft 
green  Island  of  Vido  thrown  on  the  water  like  a 
great  bed  of  green  moss ;  behind,  the  towering 
mountains  of  San  Salvador,  spotted  and  spangled 
in  the  rich  gloom  with  little  glistening  white 
Greek  villages  ;  opposite,  the  fine  coast  of  Epirus, 
where  cliff  and  crag  seem  to  have  performed  a 
Pyrrhic  dance,  they  seem  to  be  so  mountainously 
and  marvelously  heaped  over  one  another ;  in 
the  eastern  distance,  the  cloud-wreathed  pinnacles 
of  Pindus  with  the  strange  Ottoman  villages  of 
Albania  clinging  like  eagles'  nests  to  the  inter- 
vening mountain-sides,  —  Mecca  on  one  side  and 
the  Middle  Ages  on  the  other.  Then  the  A^'ces 
Phceacum  of  Vergil,  the  split  and  -splendid  peaks 
on  which  rise  the  twin  fortresses  that  guard  this 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  29 

end  of  the  town,  how  majestically  they  tower,  — 
aericB  palunihes^  —  and  how  deservedly  they  have 
given  a  name  to  the  island.  The  azure  sea- 
siesta  of  perfect  tranquillity  we  had  been  all  the 
morning  having,  ceased  when  we  gained  the  har- 
bor of  Corfu.  A  joyous  breeze  sprang  to  meet 
us.  The  waves  became  wild  and  dashed  in 
spray  on  the  quays  and  ramparts  of  the  town. 
The  boats  with  their  wild  Greek  mariners  that 
flocked  out  to  take  us  ashore  had  no  little  trouble 
in  making  headway.  A  crowd  of  hotel  runners, 
like  so  many  corsairs,  boarded  us  and  thrust 
their  rival  cards  into  our  faces,  "  Hotel  This  ? '' 
"  Hotel  That  ? ''  And  the  omnipresent  polyglot 
commissionnaire  was  there,  too,  with  mouth  wa- 
tering with  Greek,  Italian,  English,  French,  or 
Arabic,  ready  to  take  you  to  the  end  of  the 
world,  —  to  Tasso's  "  I'ultima  Irlanda,"  if  you 
would  but  give  him  your  baggage. 

Our  small  list  of  passengers  soon  scattered, 
petticoated  Albanian,  slashed  and  caftaned  Turk, 
and  all.  We  were  left  to  enjoy  this  gorgeous 
antechamber  to  the  picture-gallery  of  the  East  all 
by  ourselves. 

How  the  water  shone  and  sparkled,  shifted  and 
shivered  into  foam,  tossing  the  great  barges  up 
and  down  like  cockle-shells  and  springing  with 
almost  human  laughter  up  on  the  sides  of  the 
vessels.     There  were  a  good  many  ships  in  the 


30  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

harbor.  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  the  flag  of 
Greece  waving  from  many  of  them,  —  blue  and 
white  horizontal  stripe  with  a  cross  in  the  upper 
corner.  A  formidable-looking  Greek  iron-clad 
lay  at  anchor.  Wild  chatter  of  Greek  and  Italian 
and  Lingua  Franca  was  kept  up  all  day  in  load- 
ing our  ship  and  till  late  in  the  night.  The 
Greek,  as  I  have  hitherto  heard  it,  is  neither 
sonorous  nor  melodious.  It  is  a  quick,  nervous 
language  and  the  speakers  of  it  abound  in  shrugs 
and  gesticulations.  The  fishermen  and  gondo- 
lieri  who  came  out  to  us  stand  up  as  they  row,  a 
fashion  universal  in  the  Adriatic,  and  have  their 
oars  tied  by  a  loop  of  rope  to  a  single  peg.  In 
Venice  there  is  a  graceful  fixture  to  attach  the 
oar  to,  a  support  resembling  a  bent  elbow,  or  the 
claw  of  an  animal,  often  richly  and  artistically 
wrought,  in  which  the  oar  is  held  up  high  above 
the  side  of  the  gondola,  a  fashion  by  whicR  the 
gondoliere  can  put  forth  all  his  strength  on  his 
oar  as  he  successively  moves  it  forward  or  with- 
draws it.  The  Greek  boatmen  so  far  are  brown- 
skinned,  sharp-eyed,  clamorous  fellows,  knowing 
well  enough  how  to  cry  out  **  Barca,  Signore  ?  " 
if  you  don't  understand  Romaic.  It  is  no  won- 
der Corfu  is  famed  for  its  Romaika  or  Greek  jig, 
to  see  these  fellows  dancing  about  in  their  boats, 
rowing  like  mad  to  get  to  the  steamer  first.  They 
seem  intuitively  quite  accomplished  in  it.     For  a 


GREEK   VIGNETTES.  3  I 

wonder  we  did  not  arrive  at  Corfu  on  a  festa; 
for  what  with  their  formidable  Lents  and  count- 
less saint's  days,  they  are  nearly  always  celebrat- 
ing something.^  Corfu  is  full  of  Greek  churches. 
There  are  Jews,  too,  in  some  thousands,  who  dwell 
apart  in  a  Ghetto  of  their  own.  How  sadly  the 
Greek  and  Byzantine  churches  lack  the  graceful 
bell-towers  of  Italy,  —  those  dainty  belfries,  dainti- 
est of  which  is  Giotto's  at  Plorence.  The  square, 
slender  tower  with  the  grouped  round-arched 
windows,  flower-like  pilasters  and  sweet  peal  of 
bells  so  tremulously  hanging,  how  they  charm 
one  as  they  rise  up  from  the  gardens  of  Tuscany 
and  ring  out  the  Angelus  on  a  dewy  morning. 
They  are  like  human,  hovering  voices,  these  deli- 
cate bells,  and  to  me  they  give  a  rare  sweetness 
to  the  mourning  mother  church. 

In  Byzantinism,  however,  there  is  something 
that  frets  one,  a  coldness,  a  formalism,  an  empty 
splendor  and  decorative  art,  an  incessant  bowing 
and  scraping  (which,  by  the  way,  is  said  to  be  the 
reason  why  dogs  are  never  seen  in  Byzantine 
churches,  from  the  stooping  posture,  as  if  about 
to  pick  up  a  stone) ;  in  short,  an  unapproachable- 

1  There  are,  I  think,  more  than  one  hundred  holidays  in 
the  Greek  calendar.  How  well  can  we  understand  the 
"  Greek  calends  "  when  one  remembers  their  talent  for  pro- 
crastination, —  the  eternal  manana  !  manatia  I  (to-morrow  ! 
to-morrow  !)  of  a  wSpanish  promise. 


32  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

ness  which  does  anything  but  excite  interest. 
They  cluster  all  about  these  Greek  villages.  This 
morning  I  noticed  an  enormously  fat  old  Greek 
gentleman  on  board  fumbling,  as  it  seemed,  a  ro- 
sary of  amber  ^  as  he  walked  up  and  down.  The 
church  is  said  to  have  an  immense  hold  on  its 
communicants.  This  Sunday  morning  we  awoke 
and  found  Cephalonia  in  sight,  not  so  grand  a 
series  of  Raphaelesque  sketches  before  us  on  the 
horizon  as  on  yesterday,  but  the  same  airy  witch- 
ery of  distant  mountain  forms,  the  same  lapis 
lazuli  water,  the  same  crystalline  atmosphere,  the 
same  Spenserian  "  watchet-blue "  sky  and  vol- 
uptuous tints.  The  whole  island  is  redolent  of 
Homer.  East  of  it  lies  Ithaca,^  whose  people 
are  the  cleverest  of  the  Greeks,  even  to-day.  A 
little  north  as  Leucadia,  the  isle  of  Sappho,  and 
Paxo,  famous  for  the  legend  of  Pan  which  Milton 
and  Mrs.  Browning  have  embalmed  —  islands  at 
this  period  full  of  scents  of  summer.  It  is  im- 
possible to  marshal  all  the  checkered  recollec- 
tions of  these  scenes  through  which  we  are  pass- 
ing; while  I  am  writing  islands   are  heaving  in 

1  Which  afterwards,  I  found,  was  no  rosary  at  all,  but 
merely  a  sort  of  portable  conductor  to  carry  off  the  super- 
abundant vitality  of  a  super-excitable  people.  They  must 
be  perpetually  picking  at  something — better  amber  than 
pockets !  It  is,  as  About  would  say,  "  tme- habitude  d' or  lent  P 

2  See  Schliemann's  charming  Ithaquej  Peloponnhe,  Troie, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  ,         33 

sight  and  others  are  disappearing  which  were 
places  of  celebrity  thousands  of  years  ago,  — 
shrines  of  poetry,  temples  of  adoration,  fields  on 
which  waved  the  fire-colored  wheat  of  Homer  and 
which  felt  the  wandering  step  of  Tibullus,  tem- 
ples of  Jupiter  before  which  Nero  danced,  con- 
vents where  crusaders  stopped  to  worship  on 
their  pilgrimages  to  the  Holy  Land,  estates  once 
owned  by  the  friend  of  Cicero,  and  spots  where 
Cicero  himself  once  meditated.  It  is  certainly  a 
voyage  of  unsurpassable  interest.  Ithaca  alone 
with  its  Homeric  scenery  would  repay  the  archae- 
ological tourist. 

How  present  to  my  mind  while  I  studied  the 
beautiful  Bay  of  Corfu  were  the  gardens  of  Al- 
kinous  !  I  had  been  reading  the  Odyssey  on  the 
voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  and  the  whole  was 
fresh  in  my  memory.  Corfu,  the  ancient  Scheria 
of  Homer,  where  Ulysses  was  cast  away,  was 
rescued  by  Nausikaa  when  she  went  down  to 
wash  the  clothes,  was  clothed  hospitably  in  the 
royal  garments  themselves,  and  in  them  was  rec- 
ognized by  the  watchful  mother  of  the  maiden. 
I  can  imagine  Alkinous'  lovely  gardens  and  pali- 
saded court  looming  out  over  this  entrancing 
bay,  a  scene  of  pre-historic  beauty  and  simplicity, 
whose  very  rudeness  was  refined  away  by  the 
elaborate  cunning  of  the  air,  the  far  withdrawn 
wool-white  cloud,  the  intervening  veil  of  down- 
3 


34  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

drifting  sea-blue  air,  the  sea  itself  sending  up 
paint  and  spume  to  light  up  whatever  primitive 
KaXvpYj  it  might  be  and  bring  it  out  on  the  twi- 
light heights  like  a  star!  These  islands  are  full 
of  uncouth  Greek  shepherds  and  sharp  watch- 
dogs. A  passage  of  Aristotle  is  unexpectedly 
explained  by  reference  to  their  habit  of  attacking 
strangers.^  Little  cabins  and  huts  dot  the  crags 
here  and  there,  crags  of  every  gay  color.  The 
limestone  is  gnarled  and  sculptured  by  the  sea 
into  huge  caverns  and  grots.  Just  before  me 
now  the  magnificent  declivities  of  Monte  Nero 
(nearly  six  thousand  feet  high)  glimmer  through 
the  sunny  mist  that  broods  over  them  like  the 
white  cliffs  of  England,  declivities  of  bleached 
and  blanched  limestone  almost  painfully  bright  in 
this  quivering  air.  The  sun  smites  on  them  at 
times  blindingly.  We  wound  up  the  long  Gulf  of 
Argostoli  this  morning  and  stopped  for  an  hour 
or  two.  Pale,  Luxuri,  Crani,  and  Argostoli  lie  in 
this  river-like  fiord.  The  island  is  over  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles  in  circumference,  and  this 
side  of  it  is  full  of  towns.  The  houses  all  seem 
large  and  well  built,  embosomed  in  trees.  I  saw 
quantities  of  aloe  growing  wild.  On  this  fiord 
there  is  a  subterranean  channel  burrowed  in  the 

1  Cf.  Schliemann's  amusing  experience  in  Ithaca,  when  he 
saved  himself  from  a  fierce  Ithacan  dog  by,  doing  as  the  old 
Greeks  did  in  similar  cases,  —  sitting  down. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  35 

rock  down  which  the  sea  flows.  The  current  is 
strong  enough  to  turn  an  immense  iron  grist-mill 
wheel  which  I  saw  in  motion.  Cephalonia  lacks 
the  truly  Ionian  luxuriousness  of  Corfu,  but  its 
poesy  is  of  the  heroic  measure.  Vast  convents, 
admirable  roads,  a  great  Venetian  fortress  or  two, 
sunny  sweeps  of  sloping  currant  vineyards,  blue 
and  pink  churches  with  Greek  inscriptions,  for- 
ests of  olives,  stormy-looking  mountains,  to-day 
wrapped  in  clouds,  —  such  are  some  of  the  points 
of  the  island.  Numerous  boats,  as  usual,  came 
out  to  meet  us,  and  there  was  the  usual  squabble 
over  passengers.  I  noticed  one  boat  with  Calli- 
ope spelt  with  one  /  in  Greek  characters  on  her 
stern.  What  a  mobile,  irritable  people  they  seem 
to  be.^  The  Cephaloniots  appear  better-looking 
than  any  I  have  seen,  and  I  saw  more  blond  hair. 
One  of  our  passengers,  a  Greek,  with  sky-blue 
umbrella,  pea-green  parrot  in  a  red  cage  and  end- 
less baskets,  got  oif  here,  much  to  my  relief.  The 
Greeks  we  have  had  on  board  have  been  any- 
thing but  agreeable-looking,  above  the  medium 
size,  and  consummate  chatter-boxes.  Shall  I 
modify  my  opinion  in  the  light  of  Aristophanes  1 
Not  even  the  ancient  fleas,  bugs,  and  spongers 
escaped  this  keen  observer,  nor  does  he  indeed 
seem  to  have  escaped  them  !  This  evening  we 
get  to  Zante  (Zacynthus),  our  last  stopping-place, 
1  Cf.  in  confirmation,  Tuckerman's  "^DJ^rivEq  rfjg  ^rjixe^ov. 


OF  THE     "^ 


36  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

I  believe,  till  we  exchange  boats  at  Syra  for 
Athens.  Athens!  Can  I  realize  it?  Did  I  realize 
Rome  till  its  sad  majesty  had  passed  from  my 
sight  and  I  thought  over  it  in  the  long  winter 
nights  at  home  ?  It  must  sink  deep  like  Tyrian 
purple  into  every  tissue  of  one's  nature,  and  then 
one  may  realize  it. 

But  here  is  another  big  island  on  my  right, 
which  I  had  not  noticed !  It  is  a  Balaklava  of  isl- 
ands, —  this  Ionian  Sea,  As  fast  as  one  is  slain, 
another  rises. 

And  here  is  Ithaca  with  its  cluster  of  heroic 
memories,  — a  stone  memoir  of  Odysseus  and  Pe- 
nelope. How  singularly  rich  in  archaeological  or 
rather  aesthetic  interest  is  this  island.  Gandar, 
Wordsworth,  Lilienstern,  Bowen,  Leake,  Schrei- 
ber,  Koliades,  Sir  William  Gell,  Strabo,  and 
Plotemy  all  identify  it  with  the  Ithaca  of  Homer. 
It  lies  along  the  eastern  coast  of  Cephalonia,  a 
grouped  and  glorious  mass  of  picturesque  rock, 
full  of  small  towns,  keen-witted  people,  dogs,  and 
sunlight !  One  may  get  a  boat  in  Cephalonia  as 
Schliemann  did  and  go  over  to  Ithaca  in  an  hour, 
provided  one  have  the  famous  Homeric  tail- 
breeze.  "  Hungry  and  tired  as  I  was,"  says  the 
enthusiastic  doctor,  "  I  was  immensely  glad  to 
find  myself  in  the  native  land  of  the  hero  whose 
story  I  had  read  a  hundred  times  with  the  great- 
est delight.     I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  on 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  3/ 

disembarking  the  famous  miller  Panagis  Asproi- 
eraca  who  for  four  francs  let  me  have  his  donkey 
to  carry  my  things  while  he  himself  served  me  as 
guide  and  cicerone  to  the  capital,  Vathy.  Learning 
that  I  had  come  to  Ithaca  to  make  archaeological 
researches,  he  applauded  my  undertaking  warmly 
and  recounted  to  me  as  we  walked  all  the  advent- 
ures of  Ulysses  from  beginning  to  end.  The 
volubility  with  which  he  told  them  proved  to  me 
that  he  had  told  the  same  thing  a  thousand  times 
before.  His  enthusiasm  to  tell  me  all  about 
Ithaca  was  so  great  that  he  did  not  tolerate  in- 
terruption. In  vain  I  asked  him,  ^  Is  that  the 
Grotto  of  the  Nymphs  ?  Where  is  Laertes'  Field  ? ' 
All  my  questions  remained  unanswered.  The 
road  was  long,  but  so  was  the  story,  and  at  length 
when  after  midnight  we  found  the  threshold  of 
his  house  at  Vathy,  we  were  just  entering  hell 
with  the  souls  of  the  suitors  under  the  guidance 
of  Mercury.  I  congratulated  him  smartly  on 
having  read  the  poems  of  Homer  and  retain- 
ing them  well  enough  to  repeat  in  modern  Greek 
the  principal  incidents  of  the  twenty-four  cantos 
of  the  Odyssey.  To  my  great  amazement  he  an- 
answered  that  he  not  only  knew  nothing  of  the  an- 
cient Greek,  but  that  he  could  not  read  or  write 
the  modern  !  He  said  that  he  knew  the  adventures 
of  Ulysses  by  tradition.  I  asked  then  whether 
the  tradition  was  general  among  the  people  of 


38  GREEK   VIGNETTES. 

Ithaca  or  whether  it  was  confined  to  his  family. 
He  said  that  his  family  really  was  the  depositary 
of  it,  and  that  nobody  in  the  island  knew  the 
story  of  the  great  king  as  well  as  he  did,  but 
that  everybody  had  a  confused  notion  of  it. 

There  is  no  hotel  in  the  capital  of  Ithaca,  though 
the  town  has  2,500  inhabitants  and  is  situated  at 
the  head  of  the  Gulf  of  Molo,  one  of  the  best 
ports  in  the  world.  The  total  population  of  the 
island  (1868)  is  13,000,  and  its  length  about 
twenty-nine  kilometers.  It  is  a  chain  of  calcare- 
ous rocks.  The  Gulf  of  Molo  divides  it  into  two 
almost  equal  parts,  connected  by  an  isthmus  eight 
hundred  yards  wide,  on  which  towers  Mount  ^tos 
crowned  by  vast  ruins,  called  TraAatd/cao-rpoi/,  de- 
scribed by  tradition  as  the  ruins  of  the  palace  of 
Ulysses.  Rains  and  dews,  once  so  abundant  in 
Ithaca,  are  very  infrequent  and  trees  are  rare, 
and  the  immense  wheat  harvest  of  the  Odyssey 
is  now  reduced  to  a  fourth  of  what  is  necessary 
for  the  sustenance  of  the  inhabitants.  Currants 
and  olive  oil  are  the  staple  products  of  Ithaca. 
The  wine  is  thrice  as  strong  as  Bordeaux,  and  is 
consumed  at  home.  In  spite  of  the  excessive 
heat  of  the  island,  the  climate  is  very  healthy, 
and  deserves  the  eulogies  of  Homer. 

Bowen  is  right  in  saying  that  there  is  perhaps 
not  a  place  in  the  world  where  classic  souvenirs 
are  so  vivid  and  so  few.     The  little  rock  with- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  39 

drew  into  obscurity  immediately  after  the  epoch 
of  its  first  legendary  hero  and  poet,  and  so  it  has 
remained  for  nearly  three  thousand  years.  In  con- 
trast with  many  once  glorious  countries,  Ithaca 
owes  none  of  its  illustriousness  to  more  recent 
times.  Indeed,  the  very  name  of  Ithaca  is  hardly 
penned  by  a  post-Homeric  author  except  in  allu- 
sion to  its  poetic  celebrity.  Here,  then,  all  our 
recollections  are  concentrated  round  the  heroic 
age ;  every  hill  and  rock,  every  spring  and  olive- 
grove  is  redolent  of  Homer  and  the  Odyssey ;  and 
one  is  transported  at  a  single  bound  over  a  hun- 
dred generations  into  the  most  brilliant  era  of 
Greek  poetry  and  chivalry." 

Many  of  Homer's  localities  are  described  with 
such  accuracy  that  they  are  recognizable  to-day 
from  his  descriptions.  Thus  the  Grotto  of  the 
Nymphs  is  a  masterpiece  of  minute  truthfulness 
in  landscape  painting.  Truly  Homeric  are  the 
agricultural  instruments,  or  rather  is  the  agricult- 
ural implement  (for  they  have  but  one,  —  the 
pointed  hoe)  of  the  Ithacans.  With  this  they 
scratch  the  earth  and  win  a  scant  and  laborious 
subsistence.  Dr.  Schliemann  found  what  he  sup- 
posed to  be  the  palace  of  Ulysses  on  top  of 
Mount  u^tos.  He  brings  a  stream  of  archaeo- 
logical light  to  play  on  the  Cyclopean  walls  and 
cistern  which  he  found,  and  covers  all  over  with 
the  ivy  of  inexhaustible  quotation.     So  great  was 


40  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

the  interest  he  felt  amid  the  ruins  of  the  palace 
that  he  forgot  the  blaze  of  heat,  hunger,  and 
thirst,  devoured  the  legendary  descriptions  of  the 
spot  in  the  Odyssey,  and  sat  entranced  over  the 
magnificent  panorama  that  unrolled  before  his 
eyes,  and  which  is  hardly  inferior  to  the  vision 
from  Mount  ^tna  in  Sicily. 

To  the  north  lies  Leucadia  with  Cape  Ducato, 
so  famous  in  antiquity  for  Sappho's  leap,  from 
which  unfortunate  lovers  cast  themselves,  per- 
suaded that  this  would  cure  their  passion,  a  spot 
celebrated  for  the  leap  of  Sappho,  the  poet 
Nicostratos,  Deucalion,  Artemisia,  and  others. 
Strabo  tells  us  that  at  the  feast  of  Apollo  the 
Leucadians  had  the  habit  of  casting  a  criminal 
from  this  rock  into  the  sea  as  an  expiatory  sac- 
rifice for  all  the  crimes  of  the  people.  Masses 
of  feathers  and  living  birds  were  attached  to  him 
to  assist  his  flight,  and  fisher-boats  lay  drawn  up 
in  circles  below  to  pick  him  up  and  save  him,  if 
possible. 

On  the  south  are  the  noble  mountains  of  Pel- 
oponnesus ;  in  the  east  the  grand  peaks  of  Ac- 
arnania  ;  at  one's  feet  is  the  beautiful  spot  be- 
yond which  float  the  mountains  of  Cephalonia 
as  if  rising  vertically  out  of  the  water.  With 
this  Miltonic  vision  before  him  it  is  no  wonder 
Dr.  Schliemann  grows  poetic  and  overflows  with 
classic   reminiscence.     Accordingly  he   plunged 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  4 1 

at  once  into  excavations,  hired  laborers,  went  to 
work  on  Ulysses'  palace,  and  discovered  fune- 
rary urns  which  he  thought  not  improbably  once 
held  the  ashes  of  Penelope  and  her  spouse  ! 
Intolerable  heat,  wretched  fare,  and  the  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Greek  feasts  and  holidays  did  not 
interrupt  this  poetic  infatuation.  Five  rare  vases 
rewarded  all  this  zeal,  which  was  followed,  not 
by  a  fever,  as  one  would  reasonably  expect  in 
the  white  heat  of  the  Greek  summer,  but  by  a 
tour  of  the  island,  readings,  and  declamations 
from  the  Odyssey  to  delighted  audiences  of 
Ithacans,  friendships  with  the  solitary  shepherds 
and  their  flocks,  and  boundless  sentiment  and 
effusion.  If  the  arrival  of  a  stranger  in  the  cap- 
ital was  an  event,  infinitely  more  so  was  his  prog- 
ress through  the  provinces.  "  Scarcely  had  I 
sat  down  when  all  the  people  of  the  village 
thronged  around  me  and  inundated  me  with  ques- 
tions. To  cut  matters  short,  I  read  them  the 
twenty-fourth  chapter  of  the  Odyssey  from  the 
205th  to  the  412th  verse,  translating  verse  by 
verse  into  their  vernacular.  Immense  Was  their 
enthusiasm  on  hearing  me  declaim  in  the  sono- 
rous language  of  Homer,  the  language  of  their 
ancestors  three  thousand  years  ago,  the  story  of 
the  frightful  miseries  the  old  king  Laertes  had 
endured  in  the  very  place  where  we  were  assem- 
bled, and  the  picture  of  exquisite  joy  which  he 


42  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

had  felt  on  meeting  in  this  very  place,  after  twen- 
ty years'  separation,  his  cherished  son  Ulysses 
whom  he  had  believed  dead.  All  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears,  and  when  I  ended,  men,  women,  and 
children  embraced  me  saying,  MeyaA?]!/  ^^a^av  /xas 
eKaiJL€<i '  Kara  iroXXa  ere  c^p^aptorrto/xei/  (Thou  hast 
given  us  great  joy  ;  many  thanks).  I  was  led  in 
triumph  to  the  village,  where  they  vied  in  lavish- 
ing hospitality  on  me  without  wishing  to  accept 
any  remuneration."  Thus  the  poetic  doctor  went 
round  like  a  wandering  rhapsode,  reading  and 
reciting  to  adoring  crowds,  shedding  the  divine 
verses  of  Homer  like  a  sweet  perfume  over  their 
isolated  existences,  and  being  rewarded  by  tears 
of  sympathy  and  delight.  One  can  imagine  the 
effect  which  such  recitations  would  make  on  the 
vivid  and  impressionable  people  of  the  Ionian 
Sea. 

The  people  of  Ithaca  are  frank  and  loyal, 
chaste  and  pious  to  a  point,  bright-witted,  labo- 
rious, clean,  and  sympathetic.  Prudence  and  wis- 
dom —  characteristics  of  their  great  ancestors  — 
are  theirs  too.  Adultery  is  regarded  among  them 
as  a  crime  second  only  to  parricide,  and  those 
detected  in  it  are  pitilessly  put  to  death.  Hardly 
one  in  fifty  can  read  or  write,  but  what  they  want 
in  culture  they  supply  by  mother-wit.  The  sim- 
ple inhabitants  of  Ithaca,  just  as  in  the  rest  of 
Greece,    thee-and-thou  you.     Even   the   king  is 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  43 

thus  addressed  (Set?,  thou).  They  are  extremely 
patriotic  and  proud  of  their  nationality.  Dr. 
Schliemann  says  that  whenever  he  met  an  Itha- 
can  in  his  oriental  journeys  and  inquired  his 
country,  he  got  the  response  :  El/xat  ^WaK-qfjio^  fxa 
Tov  0eov  !     (I  'm  from  Ithaca,  by  Jove  !) 

Another  proof  of  the  influence  of  souvenirs  is 
the  quantity  of  Penelopes,  Ulysseses,  and  Telema- 
chuses  to  be  found  in  Ithaca.  These  names  have 
an  undying  charm  for  the  imagination  of  the  Itha- 
cans.  In  one  point  they  do  not  resemble  their 
famous  progenitor,  —  no  beggars  are  to  be  seen  in 
the  islands.  The  clergy  here  as  elsewhere  in  the 
East  is  unsalaried,  and  subsists  on  the  meagre 
income  from  baptisms,  burials,  and  marriages. 
Hence  the  Greek  priest,  TraTTTra?,  as  they  call  him 
(how  like  the  iravovpyeov  TOV  TraTririx)  of  Theophas- 
tus  !),  has  to  struggle  continually  with  poverty, 
and  as  there  is  no  career  open  for  him,  he  be- 
comes ignorant  and  animalized.  A  piquant 
Greek  proverb  about  him  runs  thus  :  — 

'A/xa^ws  Kol  KaKOT^Oo}^, 
'A/ca/xariys  koL  ^aya?, 
OvSiv  TrXiov  Sev  tov  /xeVet 
Ilapa  va  y€vrj  Trarra?.-^ 

Thus  as   one  journeys   through   these   happy 

1  Which  may  be  paraphrased  thus  :  "  Ignorance,  idle- 
ness, and  gluttony  make  the  Greek  priest." 


44  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

islands  a  thousand  recollections  throng  over  one 
till  the  whole  archipelago  becomes  dramatized 
and  every  islet  is  a  verse  in  an  epic  poem.  How 
much  our  interest  in  Corfu  increases  when  we 
remember  that  Antony  and  Octavia  were  married 
there ;  that  it  offered  an  asylum  to  Themistocles  ; 
that  Aristotle  took  such  delight  in  its  vernal 
beauty  that  he  persuaded  Alexander  to  visit  it. 
Then  the  arrival  of  Titus  there  after  the  con- 
quest of  Jerusalem ;  St.  Helena  going  to  Pales- 
tine to  look  for  the  true  cross ;  Augustus  and 
Diocletian  ;  Cato  and  Nero  ;  and  last,  but  not 
least,  the  foot-prints  of  the  blind  Belisarius  !  ^ 

We  are  just  running  into  the  harbor  of  Zante, 
after  Corfu  the  most  picturesque  and  stately  I 
have  seen  in  the  Ionian.  How  true  is  the  prov- 
erb, "  Zante,  Zante,  Fior  di  Levanti ! ''  Another 
oasis  of  verdure  in  this  blue  water-Sahara.  Its 
harbor  is  like  a  half-moon  or  a  sickle,  a  miniature 
Naples.  Nor  is  Vesuvius  wanting,  for  a  splendid 
twin-peaked  mountain  rises  on  the  left  and 
makes  the  resemblance  nearly  complete.  Nearly 
every  twenty  years  the  place  is  shaken  to  pieces 
by  an  earthquake.  The  harbor  is  full  of  shipping 
and  the  white  houses  and  steeples  come  out 
prominently  in  the  sun.  A  strong  land  breeze  is 
blowing.  There  is  a  lovely  tassel  of  historic 
memories  hanging  to  its  caftan,  too,  —  early  Athe- 
1  Tuckerman's  "YIKkrivzq  rrjc  Irffiepov. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  45 

nian  and  Peloponnesian  charms  and  glories,  Vene- 
tian supremacies  and  noble  demeanor  in  the 
Greek  war  of  liberation,  etc.  Feluccas  are  dart- 
ing about  everywhere.  The  coast  of  Pelopon- 
nesus away  off  is  plainly  visible  to  the  southeast 
with  Olympian  Elis  dimly  discernible.  There  is; 
an  oriental  tint  to  everything.  They  even  say 
that  the  latticed  windows  of  the  East  were  preva- 
lent here  at  no  distant  date,  and  that  the  un- 
married women  here  and  through  the  other  isl- 
ands live  in  Turkish  seclusion.  No  wonder,  in 
this  all-revealing  air !  The  quay  is  thronged  with 
Zantiot  idlers,  a  Greek  canaille  as  curious  as  ever 
the  old  Athenians  were.  All  the  people  literally 
seem  to  be  in  the  streets,  which  at  the  side  are 
arcaded  over  like  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  Venetian 
campaniles  point  heavenward  here  and  there. 
The  tow^n  is  very  shallow  in  depth,  and  does  not 
look  as  if  it  extended  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  back,  being  hemmed  in  by  lofty  mountains. 
Snow-white  convents  and  churches  hang  conspic- 
uously to  the  cliffs  in  every  direction. 

I  see  no  costumes,  only  a  caftan  here  and 
there.  A  multitude  of  straw  wide-awakes  line  the 
adjacent  quays.  Some  of  the  church  groups  are 
very  pretty,  with  walls  white  as  milk,  corniced  with 
blue  and  yellow,  and  a  gate  surmounted  by  a 
graceful  Byzantine  arch  in  blue  and  white  almost 
like   the   quartering   of    an   escutcheon.      Other 


46  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

churches  and  groups  are  of  mellower  coloring,  — 
one  group,  for  example,  stained  pink  with  bright 
green  blinds  and  gray  battlemented  wall  running 
round  it,  and  grave-toned  tiled  roof.  A  Greek 
convent,  just  touched  and  trembled  over  by  the 
sunset  light,  is  built  on  the  highest  mountain-top. 
I  see  the  Byzantine  dome  and  the  long  line  of 
sunset-painted  windows.  What  tender  serenity 
reigns  up  there,  w^hat  calmness  and  summer  light 
and  night,  what  peace  and  plenitude  of  beauty. 

Our  vessel  is  unloading  strange-looking  bags 
and  firkins  and  packages  in  a  huge  green  and 
black  barge  like  Ulysses'  schedia  with  the  Homeric 
t/cia  at  stern  and  stem,  huge  cross-beams,  looped 
oarlocks,  etc.  On  the  western  side  are  many 
pictorial  groups ;  enormous  aloes,  feathery  palms, 
sinewy  cypresses ;  gardens  fenced  in  by  high 
walls  and  full  of  aromatic  shrubs  ;  a  mighty  barge 
taking  horses  ashore  blinded;  round-windowed, 
zebra-striped  houses  streaked  white  and  brown 
on  top ;  wind-mills  turning  high  up  in  the  clear, 
evening  air ;  fantastic-looking  sail-boats  swooping 
swiftly  up  and  down  like  white-winged  swallows ; 
a  lunar  crescent  of  sparkling  blue  water  in  which 
our  ship  is  anchored ;  distant  cries  coming  melo- 
diously over  the  w^ater ;  dogs  barking  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  a  boat  painted  the  gaudiest  blue  and  yellow 
just  going  by  full  of  Zantiot  sailors  a.nd  peasants, 
the   rhythmic   beat   of    oars   in    the   water,   the 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  47 

"  Basta !  Basta !  "  of  the  Italian  and  the  indescrib- 
able ejaculations  of  the  Greek,  —  what  a  combina- 
tion of  sights  and  sounds !  There  is  no  twilight 
here  worth  speaking  of.  The  sun  has  but  just 
set  and  the  water  is  already  steely  with  approach- 
ing dusk,  while  the  sharp-sculptured  heights  back 
of  Zante  that  a  moment  ago  stood  out  like  the 
blade  of  a  scimiter  are  already  growing  dull. 
The  air  is  delightful.  Surely  the  climate  of  the 
Levant  has  been  slandered.  I  know  it  is  infi- 
nitely hotter  in  Virginia.  The  thermometer  can- 
not this  evening  be  more  than  72°  or  73°.  Either 
the  air  has  a  peculiar  resonance,  or  the  songs  of 
the  Greek  gamins  ashore  are  peculiarly  penetrat- 
ing, for  I  hear  them  distinctly,  even  conversation 
and  children's  voices.  We  are  some  distance 
from  the  shore. 

The  shops  seem  to  be  all  shut  up.  Are  the 
Greeks  so  strict  on  Sunday?  I  know  their 
church  is  wrapped  about  them  with  the  grip  of 
the  Laocoon,  but  I  thought  the  "  Ionian  haggler  " 
was  always  ready.  Their  singing  is  singularly 
sweet :  listen  to  this  boatful  of  boys  just  going  by. 
The  song  is  quaint  and  wild  as  the  one  the 
Sirens  sang  to  Ulysses,  and  who  knows  but  it 
may  be  as  ancient  1  The  Swedish  music  is  rich 
and  singular,  but  somehow  this  touches  me  more. 
Is  it  the  charm  of  association?  Presently  this 
whole  amphitheatre  will  light  up  as  Corfu  did  and 


48  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

throw  a  thousand  trembling  lights  on  the  water. 
The  bells  are  ringing  vespers^  —  shrill,  castrati 
bells,  without  the  mellow  music  of  Italian  bells. 
How  much  character  the  Italians  know  how  to 
give  their  bells.  How  those  deep  bells  up  in  the 
great  companiles  of  Venice  delighted  and  deaf- 
ened me  with  their  clangor.  I  felt  a  positive 
awe  in  their  presence;  and  as  they  all  but  one 
began  to  thunder  out  the  sunset  ave  I  felt  like  a 
poor  fly  being  bell-bombarded.  I  think  the  bell- 
ringer  enjoyed  my  dismay.  What  a  sunset  it  was 
that  evening  at  Venice,  and  what  a  post  of  obser- 
vation I  had !  The  great  tower  up  which  Napo- 
leon had  ridden  on  horseback ;  the  gorgeous 
mosque-like  San  Marco  and  airy  Venice  at  my 
feet  j  the  far-off  lagoons  and  mountains  effulgent 
with  such  beatitudes  of  light  as  Claude  and  Tur- 
ner knew;  the  Adriatic  made  to  lift  up  its  jeweled 
isles  to  catch  the  smile  of  benediction  of  that 
light ;  the  response  of  the  other  bells  in  marvelous 
antiphonal  tumult.  —  The  lamps  begin  to  sparkle 
on  shore.  This  is  my  first  Sunday  in  the  Levant ! 
I  have  spent  it  partially  in  the  intoxication  of  the 
scenery,  partially  in  studying  out  a  difficult  Italian 
novel. 

Mount  Skopos  at  Zante  is  a  very  singular  for- 
mation. Between  it  and  the  Castle  Hill  on  the 
other  side  runs  the  Vale  of  Zante,  a  sea  of  fertil- 
ity.    It  is  from  six  to  eight  miles  wide,  and  ex- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  49 

tends  across  the  whole  island.  Delightful  are 
the  spring  and  harvest  time  in  this  island,  when 
the  island  fills  the  surrounding  seas  with  almond 
blossoms  and  orange  fragrance,  or  when  the  cur- 
rant vineyards  hang  laden  with  luscious  fruit. 
There  are  strange  nests  on  poles,  constructed  out 
of  leaves  and  thatch,  which  are  put  in  the  vine- 
yards and  have  a  guard  stationed  in  them  to 
watch  the  fruit  day  and  night.  The  whole  island 
is  full  of  villas  and  gentlemen's  country  seats, 
where  the  Ionian  gentlemen  exercise  a  courteous 
hospitality.  Think  of  the  thorn  of  an  earthquake 
in  the  side  of  this  Eden !  Opposite  the  Bay  of 
Zante,  to  the  southeast,  is  the  coast  of  Elis  and 
Olympia.  Think  of  being  almost  in  sight  of 
these  memorable  places  and  not  being  allowed 
to  land  !  ^  Passengers  going  to  Olympia  land  at 
Zante  and  engage  a  boat  to  take  them  across  to 
Patras,  whence  mule-back  to  the  seat  of  the  ex- 
cavations. 

This  morning  (Monday)  the  sea  is  without  a 
ripple  except  what  is  made  by  our  ship.  We 
are  running  very  close  to  the  Peloponnesian  coast ; 
what  part  of  it  I  do  not  precisely  know,  but  I 
can  discern  with  the  naked  eye  numerous  towns 
and  hamlets  stuck  in  between  the  mountains,  and 
on  a  precipitous   crag  a  mediaeval   castle.     The 

1  See  Lang's  Feloponnesiche  Wande^'ung,  the  reports  of 
Hirschfeld,  Adler,  and  Curtius,  etc. 
4 


50  '  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

mountains  are  absolutely  bare,  of  the  softest 
and  mellowest  tints,  gray,  white,  pink,  streaked, 
russet-brown,  lovely  warm  neutral  tints,  and  sil- 
very nuances,  I  cannot  fix  them  long  enough 
to  analyze  their  characteristics,  but  the  combined 
effect  is  delicious.  Now  and  then  the  mountains 
open  and  let  you  see  far  up  them,  rising  hundreds, 
perhaps  thousands,  of  feet  sheer  up  out  of  the 
ultramarine  blue  of  the  sea.  The  coast  even 
now  has  an  autumnal  look.  There  is  the  pathos 
and  decay  of  indefinable  autumn  all  about  them. 
Nothing  could  be  more  majestic  than  their  ever- 
vanishing,  ever-flickering  profiles,  now  sweeping 
to  the  sea  in  a  lustrous  cape,  now  towering  into 
an  immense  head-land,  or  shooting  out  in  a  fan- 
tastic promontory,  or  again  huddled  together  in  a 
grand  aggregation  of  choral  and  symphonic  rock. 
Many  of  them  are  at  this  moment  caressed  by 
hovering  banks  of  cloud,  white  as  an  egret's 
wing,  that  throw  their  sharp  shadows  on  the 
naked  mountains  like  silhouettes  from  some  mag- 
ical camera.  Each  rock  is  a  study  of  color  and 
form  in  itself,  and  the  variety  is  infinite.  As  far 
as  the  eye  can  see,  the  Mediterranean  stretches 
out  like  an  immense  inland  lake,  until  it  impinges 
on  this  unconquerable  coast.  Sky  and  sea,  like 
Christ's  coat,  are  without  seam  of  juncture.  I 
see  irregular  stone  fences,  rude'  terraces  and 
steps,  and  the  whiter  courses  of  mountain  tor- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  5  I 

rents  all  about  over  the  mountains.  Shepherds' 
huts,  too,  and  little  bays  and  indentations  where 
there  is  a  tiny  harbor  and  a  house  or  two,  shel- 
ter for  a  felucca  in  stress,  or  ports  where  boats 
can  touch  and  get  their  load  of  currants,  which 
are  now  universally  cultivated  in  the  Pelopon- 
nesus. 

On  the  lips  of  these  peasants  many  a  phrase 
may  still  be  found  that  is  familiar  to  the  classical 
scholar.^  The  contour  of  the  mountains  is  soft 
as  a  mezzotint.  There  is  a  half-moonlike  stretch 
of  coast  just  now  before  my  eyes,  which  for  soft 
and  sunny  and  exquisite  shape  and  coloring  is 
unrivaled.  I  never  saw  such  transfiguring  air 
as  this :  mountains  that  would  be  indescribably 
bald  and  repulsive  elsewhere  are  here  transformed 
into  a  fairy-land  of  beauty.  I  cannot  even  discern 
a  prickly  aloe  or  a  cactus  on  many  of  these,  yet 
they  are  as  vivid  and  brilliant  as  the  richest  water- 
color  painting.  What  a  noble  cape  is  this  we  are 
just  now  turning ;  not  a  human  habitation  or  a 
tree  to  be  seen,  and  yet  such  a  bit  of  glorious 
color  as  Turner  would  have  luxuriated  in  ;  not  a 
sisterhood  of  pallid  cliffs,  but  a  mighty  mountain- 
ous mass  of  variegated  hue.     It  is,   I  believe, 

1  Cf.  Bernhardt  Schmidt's  Volksleben  der  Neugriechen, 
If  Thackeray  found  the  very  eyes  of  the  French  girls  full  of 
idiom,  one  might  say  that  the  very  outlines  of  this  coast  are 
written  in  the  Greek  character. 


52  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

Cape  Gallo.  We  passed  Sphacteria  and  Nava- 
rino  a  little  earlier  in  the  morning.  Between 
Capes  Gallo  and  Matapan  lies  a  deep  indentation 
fringed  with  high  mountains,  a  fairy  gulf  which 
we  are  this  moment  crossing.  The  Peloponnesus 
here  forms  a  series  of  gulfs  which  with  their  three 
capes,  Malea,  Matapan,  and  Gallo,  give  the  lower 
end  of  the  peninsula  the  aspect  of  an  antique 
Louis  XIV.  slipper.  Platea,  Areopolis,  and  Kit- 
ries  would  be  in  sight  with  a  powerful  glass. 
Continually  my  eyes  are  called  away  to  gaze  on 
this  most  dazzling  water  laid  out  before  me  as 
smooth  as  the  purple  lotos-blossoms  I  once  saw 
at  Kew  Gardens,  with  long  sinuosities  and  rivers 
of  mirror-like  calm,  as  if  but  recently  furrowed 
there  by  a  vessel.  Pale  and  perpendicular  hang 
the  mountains  over  its  edges,  as  if  fascinated  by 
their  own  spectre-like  loveliness.  No  ormolu 
work  could  be  richer  than  this  magnificent  nat- 
ural frame.  Over  Cape  Gallo  is  anchored  a  won- 
derful fleet  of  cirrus-cumuli,  sowing  its  mountains 
with  opaque-clear  shadows  like  smoked  crystal. 
The  waves  run  from  us  in  long,  lateral,  foamless 
swells  like  the  undulations  of  a  corn-field.  In- 
land more  than  one  classic  peak  pierces  the  air  : 
Mount  Ithome,  the  famous  mountains  that  hem 
in  Sparta  on  the  west,  Pyrgos,  Messene,  and 
others  famed  in  song  and  story.  '  I  never  im- 
agined a  coast  so  lovely.     On  my  map  this  gulf 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  53 

is  nameless,  but  it  certainly  deserves  a  name,  for 
a  more  transcendent  landscape  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  mention.  Over  and  over  again  it  recalls 
the  voluptuous  lakes  of  Italy.  The  Gulf  of 
Corinth  is  a  singular  scene  of  placid  glory.  Is 
it  any  wonder  that  the  Greeks  loved  the  sea? 
How  full  of  this  sentiment  is  the  Greek  Anthol- 
ogy, is  the  Odyssey,  is  the  exquisite  muse  of 
Theocritus  !  Did  not  Homer  in  his  continually 
recurring  phrase  of  the  "  hoary  sea "  mean  that 
silvery  whiteness  that  films  these  seas  when  seen 
aslant,  a  reflection  of  the  almost  incandescent 
whiteness  of  the  sky?  It  is  like  hoar-frost  on 
sapphire.  The  sea,  while  deeply,  wonderfully 
blue  when  you  look  right  down  into  it,  gives  ofE 
a  silver-white,  senescent  radiance  when  you  look 
at  it  from  another  angle,  —  the  radiance  of  hoary 
hair  or  white  lilies  in  blue  water;  and  this 
brought  out  the  more  conspicuously  by  the  long 
ruddy  spits  of  land  that  shoot  forth  into  the  sea 
and  give  a  strange  warmth  to  the  scene.  The 
silver  accent  is  on  everything,  on  the  olive-leaves, 
on  the  asphodels  of  Homer,  on  the  wild  aloes, 
on  the  birch  trunks  that  thickly  clothe  the  higher 
mountains  here  and  there,  on  the  far-off  silvery 
horizon,  on  the  exquisite  smile  of  white  sand  that 
breaks  at  the  foot  of  these  crags,  on  the  sea  itself 
in  its  multitudinous  crests  and  white  caps,  on  the 
very  gulls  that  float  like  silver  eros-bows  in  the 


54  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

shadowless  air.  And  more  than  all  perhaps  in 
the  clouds.  To-day  there  has  been  breathless 
calm,  and  this  effect  has  been  beautifully  brought 
out,  —  the  sky  unimaginably  white,  the  sea  un- 
imaginably blue,  the  offspring  an  indescribable 
hoariness  fired  with  sapphire. 

We  are  now  rounding  Cerigo  and  passing  be- 
tween it  and  an  island  —  a  stupendous  chocolate- 
colored  rock  rising  vertically  from  the  sea.  It 
looks  like  an  enormous  sea-sponge,  and  stands  in 
beautiful  and  unique  isolation,  like  the  cone  of 
a  submerged  mountain  peak  or  the  crown  of 
a  Titan's  hat,  opposite  the  Cytherean  coast  of 
which  it  is  a  dependency.  A  slender,  spectre- 
like silhouette  of  mountains  hangs  on  the  south- 
east horizon  —  Crete.  Would  not  one  expect 
Venus  with  her  doves  to  rise  up  out  of  this  en- 
chanted sea  and  take  her  flight  visibly  before  one  ? 
The  sea  has  the  susurrus  of  those  delicious  verses 
where  she  is  described  in  Horace  as  winging  her 
way  to  Paphos  and  Cnidus.  In  the  neighbor- 
hood is  the  scene  of  the  legend  of  Arion,  the 
lovely  singer,  returning  laden  with  the  wealth  of 
kings  when,  attacked  by  the  pirates,  he  asked  to 
sing  one  more  song  to  his  lyre,  and  then  sprang 
into  the  sea,  —  a  legend  over  which  even  Lucian 
forgot  to  jest,  and  became  sentimental,  Arion 
was  borne  ashore  by  the  mourning  dolphins.  A 
vision  on  the  horizon  lies  Melos,  where,  about 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  55 

the  time  the  great  Napoleon  died,  Heine^s  "  Our 
Lady  of  Beauty,"  the  Venus  of  Milo,  was  found, 
—  decay  and  resurrection  ! 

We  have  steamed  into  the  Bay  of  Rapsali,  a 
scene  of  delightful  beauty  !  Rapsali  is  a  crag 
surmounted  by  a  mediaeval  fort,  perched  white 
and  inaccessible  in  the  air.  A  snow-white  Greek 
church  with  quaint  steeple  looks  over*the  castle 
wall ;  behind  nestles  a  white  town  full  of  large 
stone  houses  with  strange  Eastern-looking  towers, 
lines  of  huge,  round  arched  arcades  like  the 
arches  of  an  aqueduct,  and  fields  of  golden  grain 
for  which  the  soil  has  been  laboriously  scratched 
together  and  held  in  by  stone  walls  ;  at  the  foot 
of  the  fortressed  crag  another  town  on  the  beach 
with  a  heaven-y-pointing  palm  or  two  waving  be- 
hind, a  forest  of  huge  olives,  groups  of  blossoming 
aloes  sending  aloft  a  long  shaft  of  flowers,  a  shelv- 
ing pebbly  beach  in  front,  low  one-story  houses 
like  warehouses,  painted  or  stained  white  with  yel- 
low window  frames  and  green  blinds.  The  houses 
have  a  strangely  unfinished  look,  from  the  fact 
that  there  are  neither  eaves  nor  cornice  ;  peasant 
huts  everywhere,  built  of  rude  stones,  with  tufts  of 
golden  grain  and  bright  green  foliage  dotting  the 
steep  mountains.  The  surf  breaks  musically  on 
the  shore,  near  which  as  at  Naples  the  water  has 
prismatic  streaks  on  it,  coming  from  the  shallow- 
ness of  the  sea  and  the  white  bottom  on  which 


56  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

the  sunbeams  strike  and  break  up.  A  wind-mill 
and  a  light-house  here  and  there.  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful solitary  spot.  The  people  were  expecting 
us,  for  as  soon  as  we  hove  in  sight,  boats  put 
out  to  meet  us,  and  there  was  the  wrangle  and 
jangle  of  voices  to  which  I  am  gradually  accus- 
toming myself.  On  the  highest  mountain-top  is 
another  Bj^zantine  chapel,  with  its  apse  strangely 
turned  to  the  sea.  I  did  not  have  quite  time 
enough  to  take  in  the  clustering  city  before  we 
started.  What  a  noble  situation  for  the  sumpt- 
uous temple  of  Venus  which  Pausanius  mentions 
is  the  Isle  of  Cerigo.  The  whole  coast  abounds 
in  caverns,  some  of  which  are  said  to  be  of  sin- 
gular beauty.  I  can  see  them  as  we  pass.  As- 
tarte  has  left  her  sweetness  behind  in  the  honey 
for  which  Cythera  is  famed.  The  island  seems 
put  here  for  nothing  in  the  world  but  to  make  a 
most  lovely  picture.  It  has  no  bays  or  harbors 
or  rivers  worth  speaking  of ;  its  peasantry  are 
wild  and  scattered ;  the  grain  fields  are  now  just 
gilding  a  few  spots  with  their  fruitful  gold  ;  the 
coast  is  savage  and  cavernous  ;  there  is  scant 
vegetation  in  its  ruddy  and  rocky  glens,  and  it  is 
visited  only  by  the  quails  with  preference. 

What  a  spot  of  beauty  on  these  laughing,  lumi- 
nous seas  !  We  are  sailing  round  it,  and  new  and 
richer  landscapes  are  breaking  on  us.  The  after- 
noon sun  tinges  everything  with  a  tenderness  like 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  57 

the  softest  enamel.  One's  eyes  are  nearly  out 
with  gazing  through  opera-glasses  at  these  kalei- 
doscopic changes,  these  Protean  metamorphoses, 
this  succession  and  procession  of  most  beauteous 
mountain  forms.  It  is  like  turning  over  leaf 
after  leaf  of  a  living  Odyssey  —  and  ever  the  sea 
comes  in  with  a  low  chime  as  of  murmurous 
nereids,  through  the  fluted,  organ-like  sea-grots 
and  echoing  caverns.  And  singularly  forsaken 
seems  this  sea.  How  seldom  we  meet  a  vessel ! 
This  morning,  for  a  wonder,  there  was  a  steamer 
in  sight  —  now  and  then,  a  peak-sailed  schooner 
hugging  the  shore.  The  region  is  like  the  dead 
Mediterranean  itself,  which  has  no  tide  and  nei- 
ther ebbs  nor  flows.  So  the  scenery  on  the  Sea 
of  Sodom  has  the  same  unearthly  brilliance. 
Life  and  light  are  coincident,  and  yet  in  this 
land  of  light  how  dead  it  is  ! 

We  arrived  at  Syra  early  yesterday  morning, 
and  transhipped  from  the  Orestes  to  the  Lucifer' 
early  this  morning.  Fourth  of  July  in  Greece  ! 
The  incongruity  would  seem  almost  absurd  if  one 
did  not  connect  1776  with  776,  —  the  foundation 
of  culture  with  its  declaration  of  independence. 
My  fourths  of  July  have  certainly  been  varied, 
many  of  them  spent  on  the  Atlantic,  as  I  have 
had  birthdays  in  many  lands.  I  have  never  been 
more  dazzled  than  T  was  at  the  first  glimpse  of 
Syra  —  cloudless  calm,  the  most  golden  expanse 


58  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

of  illuminated  water,  blue  and  breathless  light 
over  everything,  and  Syra  in  the  foreground  with 
Hermoupolis,  its  capital,  whitening  the  shore 
and  climbing  the  conical  mountain  behind.  The 
baldest,  nakedest  mountains  around,  but  so  be- 
jeweled  and  bewitched  by  this  transcendent  cli- 
mate that  they  excel  in  beauty  the  most  luxuriant 
of  forest-clad  heights.  And  this  is  the  ^gean 
Sea,  too,  and  opposite  is  Delos,  the  Holy  Isle 
and  sun  of  the  Cyclades,  about  which  these  wan- 
dering isles  revolved  in  the  antique  imagination, 
thousand-fold  sacred  with  associations  of  Apollo 
and  Artemis.  Rhenea  lies  in  front,  an  island 
once  chained  by  a  Greek  tyrant  to  Delos  as  an 
offering  to  the  divinities.  Paros,  the  marble 
home  of  our  divinest  statues,  is  a  tranquil  spot 
of  aerial  mountain-line  to  the  southeast,  —  a  spot 
wrangled  over  for  thirty  years  no  long  time  ago, 
with  the  Greek  government  and  a  private  indi- 
vidual as  parties  to  the  law-suit.  Andros  and 
Mykonos  face  us  to  the  northeast.  In  fact,  we 
are  in  the  maelstrom  of  the  ^gean,  caught  in  the 
whirl  of  bright  isles  and  all  be-meshed  and  en- 
tangled in  poetic  memories.  How  different  are 
these  islands  from  the  Ionian  !  As  different  as 
the  most  luxuriant  fertility  can  be  from  the  most 
utter  nudeness.  What  do  these  ^geans  live  on  ? 
No  such  question  needed  to  be  asked  among  the 
vines  and  olives  and  pomegranates  of  Corfu  and 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  59 

Zante.  But  here  there  seems  to  be  absolutely 
nothing  except  mountains  of  mica,  slate,  marble, 
and  granite.  The  harbor  is  full  of  ships,  too  — 
brigs  and  brigantines,  barks,  schooners,  steam- 
ships, corsair-like  vessels  with  slender  hulls  and 
huge  sails,  innumerable  harche  and  barcarole  with 
their  sailors  standing  up  as  they  row,  even  a 
mighty  Austrian  man-of-war  with  a  band  of  music 
and  formidable  port-holes  with  cannon  peeping 
out.  Syra  is  then  the  Cyclad  of  the  Cyclades, 
the  centre  of  the  steam  life  of  the  Levant,  the 
universal  calling  point  for  out-going  and  in-com- 
ing steamers,  and  the  point  of  transhipment  for 
Athens.  Why  this  island  precisely  should  have 
been  selected  I  do  not  know,  except  its  harbor 
is  deep  and  spacious,  and  it  is  full  of  a  lively, 
restless  population  attracted  here  for  apparently 
incomprehensible  reasons.  The  town  contains 
at  least  thirty  thousand  inhabitants  (with  forty 
thousand  horse-power),  a  theatre,  several  cathe- 
drals and  casinos,  and  some  large  factories,  and 
is  the  seat  of  an  extensive  trade.  It  gives  one 
a  more  perfect  idea  of  what,  in  a  measure,  an 
ancient  town  must  have  been,  than  any  I  have 
seen.  It  really — even  the  telegraph,  steam  com- 
munications, and  churches  —  looks  like  a  resus- 
citated Pompeii.  The  houses  are  built  of  crys- 
talline limestone,  many  of  them  highly  polished, 
with  beautiful  marble  porticoes  and  plinths,  mar- 


6o  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

ble  steps  and  window  frames,  niches  with  sculpt- 
ured figures  in  them,  battlements  with  light  bal- 
ustrade often  surmounted  by  a  small  temple, 
quaint  ornamented  chimneys,  arcades  upheld  by 
marble  pillars,  and  tiny  gardens  full  of  acacias, 
fig-trees,  and  trellised  vines.  The  majority  of 
them  are  perfectly  square,  two-storied,  without 
cornice  or  gabled  roof,  stained  brilliant  white 
with  a  bright  blue  or  pale  green  band  running 
round  the  top ;  square  or  Roman  windows  with 
green  Venetian  blinds,  behind  which  hang  lace 
curtains  and  hover  faces  always  curiously  on  the 
lookout.  Veiled  women  occasionally  pass  you, 
though  the  majority  of  the  Syrote  women  seem 
to  go  without  any  covering  for  the  head  except  a 
light  silk  parasol.  The  gamins  in  the  street  have 
the  blackest  hair  I  ever  saw,  with  pure  olive 
complexions  and  aquiline  noses.  They  bathe  all 
day  long  on  the  mole  in  this  beautifully  clear, 
clean  water.  There  is  the  prismatic  sheen  on  it 
I  have  so  often  noticed.  Dolphins  and  sea- 
urchins  abound  in  these  waters  ;  there  is  even  a 
group  of  islands  which  the  Greeks  called  Echm- 
ades,  —  poetic  old  fellows  !  —  from  their  resem- 
blance to  hedge-hogs.  They  were  always,  with 
an  infinitely  fertile  fancy,  coining  epithets  and 
conceiving  similitudes,  likening  one  island  to  the 
antlers  of  a  stag,  calling  another  the  isle  of 
roses,  and  describing  others  as  sown  (Sporades) 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  6 1 

over  the  sea.  They  did  the  same  with  the  stars, 
unraveling  the  intricacies  of  those  skeins  of  gold- 
en light  and  weaving  them  again  into  a  garment 
of  gorgeous  myths.  How  beautifully  the  constel- 
lations flash  on  us  from  the  Greek  poets  !  To 
each  one  there  is  hung  the  medallion  of  some 
exquisite  epithet  which  itself  has  a  touch  of  star- 
riness  in  it.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  it  as 
I  looked  at  the  heavens  last  night,  —  so  brill- 
iantly pure,  so  softly  scintillant.  They  hung 
there  like  fruits  of  Aladdin's  garden,  each  star 
bedded  in  its  case  of  velvet  air  like  a  brilliant. 
The  city  was  one  mass  of  mantling  light  elon- 
gated in  the  water  as  we  arrived.  I  went  into 
the  cathedral  and  admired  the  polished  marble 
of  its  interior,  with  the  vaulted  roof  stained  light 
blue,  and  colored  glass  in  the  Byzantine  dome. 
The  blue  and  white  of  the  Greek  national  colors 
appear  everywhere,  even  in  the  churches.  These 
Greek  churches  do  not  produce  the  effect  of  the 
dim  Gothic.  They  are  too  full  of  light,  and 
have  a  Protestant  clearness.  The  two  towers  of 
this  cathedral  are  very  pretty,  light  elaborately 
wrought  open  work  marble,  surmounted  by  a 
graceful  belfry.  Another  church  which  I  visited 
was  most  beautiful,  with  its  marble  cloisters  and 
dainty  cornice.  I  could  not  tell  whether  it  was 
a  convent  or  a  church;  probably  both.     I  did 


62  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

not  go  in.^  Windmills  whirl  on  every  height.  In 
one  place  there  are  six  of  them  in  a  row,  facing 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  views  of  the  ^gean. 
The  streets  of  Hermoupolis  are  simply  abomina- 
ble —  interminable  steps,  torturous  and  torturing, 
seldom  wide  enough  for  even  one  vehicle,  up-hill, 
down-hill  all  the  time,  without  ever  seeming  to 
reach  anything.  I  walked  along  the  quay  as  if  I 
were  in  a  dream,  or  like  a  belated  vizier  of 
Haroun-al-Raschid,  amid  the  greatest  variety  of 
costume,  though  Turkish  trousers  and  vests  pre- 
dominated. The  faces  of  these  islanders  are 
the  most  beastly  and  unredeemed  I  ever  saw. 
Boundless  sensuality  and  filth  lay  seared  on 
them  and  into  them.  Turkish  cobblers  at  the 
street  corners  mending  shoes  al  fresco  ;  Turkish 
fishermen  in  little  kiosks  frying  eels  and  doling 
them  out  to  hungry  customers  ;  Turkish  howadji 
sitting  cross-legged  in  their  dens,  awaiting  vic- 
tims ;  tobacco-venders  in  huge  turbans  smoking 
impassibly  ;  trousered  lads  with  shrill  voices  cry- 
ing their  fruits  and  vegetables  in  your  ears  as  you 
passed  j  paunchy  fellows  in  caftans  marching  by 
the  side  of  asses  laden  with  water-jugs  or  ham- 
pers of   tomatoes  ;  others  crying   the  virtues  of 

1  The  Greek  clergy  are  not  famous  for  intelligence,  and  I 
was  surprised  to  find  such  a  nest  of  beauty Jn  lively,  com- 
mercial little  Syra,  which  seemed  like  a  suburb  of  Birming- 
ham. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  63 

their  melons,  salami,  or  oil.  The  whole  quay  was 
blocked  up  by  the  squatting  or  perambulating 
peddlers.  I  w^as  reminded  of  the  marchands  and 
rabais  (as  they  are  called)  of  New  Orleans.  It 
was  a  shame  to  make  such  diminutive  donkeys 
bear  such  mountainous  loads.  Many  of  them 
were  hardly  bigger  than  Newfoundlands.  Shet- 
land ponies  would  have  been  Bucephaluses  be- 
side some  I  saw. 

The  shops  are  mean  and  dark.  We  did  not 
see  one  that  had  the  least  claim  to  elegance. 
Photograph  shops,  the  delight  and  pride  of 
most  European  towns,  were  almost  non-existent. 
Countless   low    cafes   (Kacfi(f>€V€La    kuI  ixTrtpeppLa,    as 

they  call  them)  lined  and  impeded  the  streets 
with  their  tables  and  awnings.  I  longed  to  go 
in  and  see  what  they  were  like,  but  durst  not 
from  ignorance  of  the  Romaic.  I  did  contrive 
to  get  a  weak  limonata  fresca  at  one,  though  it 
was  served  with  a  pewter  spoon.  We  got  back 
change  which  I  have  not  yet  deciphered.  The 
Levant  is  a  chaos  of  conflicting  currencies.  I  now 
have  in  my  pocket  American,  English,  French, 
Swiss,  Italian,  Danish,  Austrian,  Greek,  and  Sy- 
rote  coins.  One's  pocket-book  is  a  cabinet  of  cu- 
riosities. This  is  practical  numismatics  !  All  of 
these  coins  except  the  American  and  Danish, 
were  obtained  coming  from  London  here.  The 
Greek    ^n^    drachmae,   two    drachmae,    and  one 


64  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

drachma  pieces,  especially  if  new,  are  beautiful. 
They  have  a  real,  genuine  ring  about  them, 
though  they  are,  I  believe,  somewhat  depreciated. 
The  gold  coins  I  have  not  yet  seen,  for  they  are 
scarce. 

Brigandage  is  unknown  in  these  islands,  except 
the  legalized  brigandage  of  camerieri,  battelieri, 
and  the  whole  host  of  hotel  and  aquatic  vermin 
that  infest  th,e  Levant  and  empty  your  pockets. 
Though  written  and  printed  prohibitions  against 
receiving  fees  may  be  staring  the  cameriere  (as 
the  steward  is  called)  in  the  face,  with  the  pen- 
alty of  dismissal,  if  transgressed,  attached,  he 
will  expect  a  fee,  probably  remind  you  of  one,  at 
least  by  insolence  of  manner.  This  is  the  great- 
est misery  we  suffer :  what  to  give  these  people, 
or  whether  to  give  them  anything.  One  is  lit- 
erally famished  for  small  change  all  the  time,  for 
there  is  ever  a  hand  held  out  to  receive  it.  One 
thing  I  have  remarked  at  Syra  —  not  a  single 
beggar !  At  least,  I  have  not  been  addressed  by 
one.  What  curious  boat  loads  are  passing  us ! 
unknown  nationality,  but  very  picturesque,  men, 
women,  and  children,  in  all  imaginable  clouts  and 
costumes ;  market  boats,  baggage  and  passenger 
boats,  yachts  with  the  Greek  pennant  and  with 
canopies  to  keep  off  the  sun,  others  with  gay  ar- 
morial or  national  scutcheons  painted  in  the 
stern,  where   sometimes    there   is   an    aphorism 


GREEK   VIGNETTES,  6$ 

such  as  l\<ii  o  ^eos.  Naked  lazzaroni  —  so  I  call 
them  at  least  —  are  diving  like  porpoises  off  the 
mole  just  as  we  pass,  with  utter  disregard  of  the 
ladies  on  board.  What  easy,  emotionless  naked- 
ness 1  It  is  as  natural  to  strip  oif  and  plunge  in 
here  as  it  is  to  eat.  Off  we  go  !  The  Liccifer  is 
full  of  Greeks  bound  for  Athens.  If  it  were  not 
so  early  they  would  all  be  as  lively  as  crickets. 
As  it  is,  some  are  plunged  in  newspapers,  others 
are  watching  the  beautiful  scenery  through  dark- 
ened glasses,  for  the  sun  is  bright.  The  Lucifer 
is  a  side-wheeler.  A  huge  commotion  just  as  we 
start :  two  boatmen,  —  one  shouting  Burro,  Burro  I 
(butter,  butter !)  and  the  other  apparently  calling 
down  imprecations  on  us  for  being  in  such  a 
hurry  —  are  rowing  frantically  after  our  ship. 
They  have  been  belated,  or  we  are  before  our 
time,  so  it  appeared  at  first  as  if  we  should  not 
take  their  baskets,  evidently  destined  for  our 
larder,  on  board.  What  fury  of  ejaculation  on 
both  sides  !  One  of  them  lost  an  oar,  and  I 
thought  he  would  have  lost  his  senses.  The  sea 
is  again  like  glass.  Vessels  lie  becalmed,  or  be- 
witched, all  along  the  shore.  There  is  a  Calypso 
spell  on  the  water.  In  what  beautiful,  symmetric 
curves  it  parts  from  us  and  flows  to  the  side  ! 
No  clouds,  only  cloud-like  islands,  to  tell  the 
parting  line  between  sea  and  sky. 

There  is  a  young  Hellene  on  board  reading  a 
5 


66  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

newspaper,  the  'Ec^/y/xcpts  (Daily  News),  which 
looks  more  like  a  theatre  programme  than  a 
paper. 

Syra  is  a  capital  point  for  excursions.  It  is 
the  seat  of  the  Greek  Steamship  Company  (dr/>to- 
ttXouov  eraipta),  which  sends  out  steamers  on  voy- 
ages of  a  fortnight  among  all  the  islands  belong- 
ing to  the  Hellenic  kingdom.  Sailing  in  these 
tranquil  seas  is  a  matter  of  no  difficulty,  for  they 
are  an  Hephaestus-net  of  islands  close  enough  to- 
gether to  sail  in  a  goeletta  from  isle  to  isle,  or 
even  to  take  a  huge,  heavy-bottomed  o-Ka<^os  and 
row  from  point  to  point.  If  then  one  is  fortu- 
nate enough  to  miss  the  regular  steamer  in  this 
enchanting  circumnavigation,  there  is  no  harm 
done,  and  impecunious  Greeks  can  always  be 
found  to  do  for  one  what  Uhland's  ferryman 
did  for  his  sweet-voiced  guest:  — 

"  Nimm  nur,  Fahrmann,  nimm  die  Miethe, 
Die  ich  genie  dreifach  biete, 
Zween,  die  mit  mir  iiberfuhren, 
Waren  geistige  Naturen." 

Of  course  it  is  quite  necessary  to  have  a  host  in 
view,  for  these  islands,  hospitable  in  everything 
else,  are  inhospitable  in  hotels.  To  reckon  with- 
out a  host,  then,  in  a  Greek  circular  voyage,  is 
even  more  lamentable  in  Greece  than  in  the  old 
proverb.  The  Greeks,  like  the  Turks,  are  hospit- 
able— in  the  islands,  whatever  they  may  be  on  the 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  6j 

main-land ;  and  one  is  expected  to  enrich  the  ser- 
vants, if  not  the  proprietor,  with  a  small  sum  on 
departing.  These  boats  generally  leave  Wednes- 
day at  8  in  the  morning.  There  is  the  blessed 
arrangement  on  them  that  one  is  not  obliged  to 
eat.  Meals  are  paid  for  as  they  are  consumed, 
and  the  passage  money  is  for  the  voyage  alone. 

The  vessel  as  it  steams  out  of  the  brilliant- 
toned  harbor  of  Hermoupolis  in  Syra  passes  a 
light-house  which,  like  everything  else  in  these 
bold  and  glittering  latitudes,  is  white.  The  cru- 
cifixion that  the  eyes  undergo  in  the  ^gean  is 
equal  to  the  old  Carthaginian  torture.  The  scat- 
tered rock  and  refuse  of  disintegrated  islands  lie 
about  in  the  water,  bits  just  peeping  above  the 
water-line,  picturesquely  suggestive  of  dangers. 
Tenos,  Andros,  Mykonos,  Delos,  and  Rhenea  are 
faint  in  the  distance  —  fairy  isles,  like  bits  of  Me- 
leager's  verse,  sprinkled  about  on  the  sea  to  sug- 
gest what  antiquity  must  have  been,  pedestals 
for  temples  or  points  for  a  hovering  Athene  with 
the  spear.  The  glimpse  of  Syra,  or  Syros,  as  the 
cultivated  Greeks  call  it,  reveals  the  singular 
formation  of  the  island,  a  beehive  of  busy,  rebell- 
ious Greeks,  who  have  done  wonders  to  enliven 
this  Dead  Sea  and  make  it  look  again  like  the 
ancient  times.  One  has  ample  opportunities  on 
such  a  voyage  to  physiognomize  with  Lavater,  or 
to  study  costume.     The  fustanella^  or  petticoat, 


68  GREEK   VIGNETTES. 

is  not  worn  by  the  Greeks  of  Asia  Minor  and 
Turkey  as  it  is  throughout  Hellas ;  but  instead 
of  its  graceful  white  folds  one  finds  the  mon- 
strous leg-bag  of  the  islanders,  and  high,  wide, 
slovenly  turban,  replaced  in  Grece  by  a  light 
crimson  fez  like  that  worn  by  the  Turkish  sol- 
diers. 

After  a  sail  of  three  hours  the  steamer  arrives 
at  Paros,  cast  upon  the  sea  like  a  ball  and 
guarded  on  each  side  by  a  smaller  island.  The 
tout  ensemble  of  this  famous  group  has  been 
compared  to  the  Brocken.  Naxos,  with  its  im- 
mense mountain  chain,  towers  to  the  left,  often 
veiled  in  white  clouds.  Anti-Paros,  or  Oliandros, 
is  discerned  to  the  right  of  Paros.  Paros  on 
nearer  approach  is  seen  to  throw  out  many  wild 
and  rugged  promontories,  on  which  the  surf  roars 
grandly  and  ascends  in  airy  vapor  from  the  sea. 
The  ship  threads  her  intricate  way  through  a 
series  of  islands  and  finally  reaches  the  harbor, 
Naussa  (from  m?)?,  a  ship).  There  is  a  tiny, 
dazzling-white  town  perched  on  a  cliff,  and  a 
brown  Venetian  tower  rising  before  it  out  of  the 
water.  Turks,  Venetians,  and  Russians  have 
fought  for  the  island,  and  so  fearfully  did  the 
Russians  devastate  that  it  has  passed  into  a  prov 
erb  in  the  place.  No  sooner  is  the  steamer  in 
sight  than  she  is  immediately  enveloped  in  a 
sort  of  squall  of  boats,  which  toss   and  tumble 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  69 

about  her  in  the  vain  hope  of  a  passenger.  The 
steamer,  however,  turns  round  and  goes  over  to 
the  neighboring  island  of  Naxos,  the  seat  of  the 
mediaeval  Duchy  of  Naxos,  still  containing  a 
tower  of  the  ancient  dukes.  There  are  two  Ionic 
columns  standing  on  a  tiny  isle  just  before  the 
tow^n,  which  are  supposed  to  be  relics  of  the  tem- 
ple of  Bacchus.  Naxos,  though  the  largest  of  the 
Cyclades,  has  but  12,000  inhabitants,  in  spite  of 
its  8,000  heavy-armed  mentioned  by  Herodotus. 
It  was  always  celebrated  for  its  wine,  and  it  has, 
besides,  great  poetic  interest  in  its  association 
with  the  legend  of  Ariadne,  daughter  of  Minos. 
Like  Egeria,  the  forlorn  damsel  seems  to  have 
turned  into  a  fountain,  for  her  name  is  thus  per- 
petuated in  Naxos.  A  channel  about  two  miles 
wide  separates  Naxos  and  Paros,  two  islands 
still  famous  for  their  wine  and  marble.  Mar- 
mora is  one  of  the  towns  of  Paros,  and  repro- 
duces in  its  name  a  vision  of  the  quarries  of 
Marpassa,  famous  for  the  heaviest  and  hardest 
and  most  translucent  of  all  marbles.  The  an- 
tique subterranean  quarries  out  of  which  the 
statuary  marble  came  were  reopened  in  1844, 
when  marble  was  wanted  for  the  tomb  of  Na- 
poleon in  the  Invalides.  What  an  enchanter's 
wand  had  the  great  general !  The  marble  for  ar- 
chitectural purposes  was  obtained  from  the  sur- 
face.    Many  excavated  places  were  found  full  of 


70  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

antique  terra-cotta  lamps  left  there  by  the  an- 
cients. As  is  well  known,  these  quarries  grad- 
ually fell  into  neglect,  especially  when,  under 
Augustus,  the  quarries  of  Carrara,  near  Lucca, 
were  discovered.  An  English  company,  with  a 
capital  of  ;^i 00,000,  is  now  working  them.  A 
wretched  German,  who  has  been  quarrying  the 
Verde  Antique  of  Tenos,  and  the  Rosso  Antico 
of  Laconia,  has  recently  proposed  to  get  at  the 
marble  more  expeditiously  by  blowing  up  Mount 
Marpassa  with  dynamite  !     Ets  Kopa/cas  ! 

Paros  is  enveloped  in  a  sort  of  asteroid  dust 
of  islets,  Douvessa,  Keros,  Macares,  Heraclea, 
and  Skiuvessa.  To  the  south  the  horizon  is 
haunted  by  los,  called  Nio  by  the  sailors,  and  Si- 
kinos.  los,  too,  has  a  lovely  legend  hung  to  it,  for 
once,  says  tradition,  fared  a  ship  from  Smyrna 
to  Athens,  and  the  ship  held  the  body  of  a  blind 
old  man.  It  was  the  body  of  Homer,  who  had 
died  on  the  voyage.  The  mariners  put  into  los 
and  buried  the  body,  and  even  to-day  at  the  lit- 
tle cloister  Plakolos  they  show  gravestones  that 
mark  the  grave  of  Homer.  I  will  not  ruffle  the 
plumes  of  this  graceful  legend  by  telling  about 
the  Dutch  count  in  Russian  regimentals  who,  in 
1773,  visited  los  and  found  the  grave.  The  in- 
habitants of  the  island  call  themselves  lonians 
and  are  intelligent,  simple-hearted  people.  The 
wonder  is  where  they  get  their  information  from, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  7 1 

shut  in  as  they  are  from  year's  end  to  year's  end, 
and  only  once  in  a  fortnight  connecting  their  lit- 
tle wire  with  the  great  cable- wires  of  the  world. 
So  acute,  however,  is  the  intelligence  of  the 
Greek  that  even  such  scanty  communication  is 
sufficient  to  make  him  infinitely  the  superior  of 
all  other  Orientals.  He  is  the  banker,  the  clerk, 
the  bootblack,  the  newsboy,  and  the  land-owner 
of  the  East.  This  vivid  intellectuality  is  of  itself 
sufficient  to  disprove  Fallmerayer's  theory  that 
the  Hellenic  blood  no  longer  exists,  and  that 
modern  Hellas  is  a  sort  of  warmed-up  Slavism. 
How  the  Greeks  blaze  when  Fallmerayer's  the- 
ory is  mentioned  —  the  stupid  Bavarian  who 
would  take  their  nationality  from  them ! 

But  the  marvel  of  this  ^gean  Sea,  full  of  mar- 
vels and  delightsomeness  as  it  is,  is  the  island  of 
Santorino,  the  mysterious  Vesuvius  of  the  Eastern 
Mediterranean.  The  island  is  an  extinct  volcano, 
hoop-shaped,  with  unfathomable  water  in  the  cra- 
ter and  gigantic  cliffs  rimming  it  in  on  three  sides. 
The  story  of  Santorino  (a  corruption  for  Santa 
Irene)  goes  baclc  to  a  dim  antiquity.  The  little 
islet  Therasia  lies  at  the  door  of  the  crater,  and 
makes  the  circle  complete.  There  is  a  glittering 
white  Greek  town,  Epanomeria,  perched  on  one 
end  of  the  horned  semicircle,  which  becomes 
more  and  more  conspicuous  as  the  ship  glides 
into  the  lake-like  expanse.     The  ship  cannot  an- 


^2  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

chor,  for  no  plummet-line  can  fathom  these  fabu- 
lous waters.  It  is  a  dazzling  scene  of  variegated 
marble  piled  story  on  stor}^  like  a  Venetian  pal- 
ace —  green,  white,  brown,  blue-black,  yellow,  as 
the  successive  eruptions  have  come  and  gone 
with  their  feverous  color.  The  walls  of  the 
crater  are  four  hundred  metres  high,  dizzy  and 
vertical,  while  the  crater  itself  is  twelve  kilome- 
tres long  and  eight  broad.  Near  where  the  ves- 
sel stops  a  long  meandering  tier  of  houses  rises 
on  a  precipice  twelve  hundred  feet  high,  and  forms 
the  ribbon-like  capital  of  the  island  Thera.  A 
thread  of  a  path  winds  in  zigzag  from  the  bottom 
to  the  top  of  this  island.  The  eye  can  discern 
caves  made  by  human  hand  in  the  perpendicular 
wall  as  it  rises  sheer  from  the  disk  of  fairy  water 
below.  This  is  the  greatest  of  known  craters,  and 
has  been  compared  to  the  Vulcanic  ring  on  the 
moon.  A  group  of  rounded  peak-like  islands 
springs  out  of  the  centre  of  the  basin,  like  the 
pistils  of  some  wondrous  flower.  They  are  en- 
tirely uninhabited,  and  plumes  of  twining  ser- 
pentine smoke  wreathe  and  coil  out  of  the  summit 
of  the  highest  of  them.  An  account  gathered 
from  a  recent  traveller  ^  will  perhaps  give  the 
reader  a  distincter  impression  of  this  marvelous 
child  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Santorino  is  only  about  twelve  miks  north  of 
1  Faucher's  Streifziige,     Lacroix,  lies  de  la  Grlce. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  J^ 

Crete,  and  is  the  southernmost  of  the  Cyclades 
or  Revolving  Islands  that  to  the  antique  eye  per- 
formed a  sort  of  sacred  choric  dance  round  the 
island  of  Delos.  It  was  not  originally  the  ring 
that  we  see  to-day,  but  a  high  rounded  insular 
table-land,  without  any  depression  in  the  cen- 
tre. The  island  was  repeatedly  peopled  from 
the  neighboring  islands,  Amorgos  (the  birthplace 
of  Simonides)  and  Melos,  and  then  as  repeatedly 
abandoned  from  the  dread  of  the  ever-recurring 
eruptions.  The  volcano  opened  its  sublime  bat- 
teries far  back  in  the  pleiocene  period,  and  con- 
tinued to  break  out  like  a  sort  of  perpetual  French 
Revolution  till  it  established  a  reign  of  terror  in 
the  Orient  Mediterranean.  It  seems,  like  Pom- 
peii and  Herculaneum,  to  have  been  immerged 
in  a  vast  inundation  of  volcanic  ashes,  and  then 
overlaid  by  streams  of  lava.  Prehistoric  relics  of 
men  and  houses  have  been  found  leading  back  to 
a  remote  period,  and  a  village  of  considerable 
extent  has  been  partially  unearthed.  Articles  of 
clay,  pebble,  obsidian,  and  pure  copper  were 
found,  and  also  many  evidences  of  the  island's 
having  sunk  beneath  the  sea  and  then  risen 
again,  with  a  superincumbent  mass  of  sea-shells 
overlaying  these  prehistoric  relics. 

The  French  geologist,  Fouque,  who  was  sent 
out  to  visit  and  study  the  volcano  during  the  dis- 
plays of  1866  and  1867,  carried  off  most  of  the 


74  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

relics  to  Paris.  Fouque  and  Le  Normant  place 
the  date  of  these  prehistoric  remains  two  thousand 
years  before  Christ.  The  Phenicians  seem  to 
have  been  the  first  historic  people  who  inhabited 
the  island.  The  Greeks,  with  their  characteris- 
tic art  sense,  changed  the  Phenician  name  to 
Kalliste  (most  beautiful),  and  then  to  Strongule 
(circle).  The  Phenicians  seem  to  have  known 
the  island  as  a  ring  broken  through,  with  the 
sea  in  the  middle.  Then  came  the  Dorians,  in  the 
pre-Christian  Dark  Ages  (looo  B.  c),  and  called 
the  island  Thera,  after  their  leader  Theras.  A 
rock-alphabet,  extremely  archaic,  has  been  found 
carved  in  the  cliffs  of  Santorino,  said  to  be  older 
even  than  that  found  by  a  Milesian  officer  on  the 
pedestal  of  the  twin  colossi  of  Abu-Simbel  in 
Nubia. 

A  sleep  of  two  thousand  years  succeeded  the 
nightmare  of  the  first  great  historic  eruption  (2000 
B.  c),  when  in  the  third  century  before  our  era 
the  Titan  began  to  toss  again.  Pliny  tells  us  of 
the  convulsions  of  the  island  236  b.  c,  when 
islands  dipped  up  and  then  under  like  living  creat- 
ures, received  a  name,  then  mysteriously  disap- 
peared in  the  seething  water.  The  most  dread- 
ful outbreaks  were  those  of  1650,  1707,  and  1866, 
when  the  volcano  acted  like  a  colossal  syringe, 
and  drenched  the  neighboring  isles.'  The  thun- 
dering of  the  mighty  monster  continued  three 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  75 

months,  and  its  sulphurous  breath  blasted  the 
vegetation  as  far  away  as  the  island  of  Melos. 
In  February,  1866,  thousands  of  red-hot  blocks 
of  stone  were  belched  out  of  the  sea,  and  fell 
back  into  the  hissing  water,  contributing  to  the 
formation  of  new  hills  and  islands  a  hundred 
yards  above  the  surface  of  the  sea.  Two  islands 
especially  were  the  picturesque  fruit  of  these 
throes,  Georgios  and  Aphroessa  (the  foam-born), 
Aphrodite-islands  born  of  the  foam  of  the  sea. 
This  magnificent  tableau  lasted  nearly  two  years. 
More  than  sixty  sorts  of  grapes  grow  on  this 
wonder  island,  and  a  wine  is  produced  from  some 
of  them  that  is  peculiarly  delectable  to  the  Rus- 
sian taste.  The  Russians  nearly  monopolize  the 
^ fiery  juice  of  this  diabolic  vineyard.  It  is  like 
Lacryma  Christi,  Teneriffe,  or  even  Madeira  wine 
when  it  is  good.  The  wine  is  pure  and  unmixed 
with  grape  sugar  or  alcohol,  and  will  keep  a  hun- 
dred years  in  a  cool  place. 

What  a  singular  contrast  to  all  the  smiling 
islands  around  is  this  grand  demonic  rock  that 
has  a  fit  of  delirium  tremens  every  few  hundred 
years,  and  then  makes  up  for  it  by  exquisite 
beauty  and  fertility !  In  the  laughter  of  such  seas 
as  these,  who  would  suspect  the  tragic  growl 
that  lurks  under  this  loveliest  of  painted  water ! 
There  is  something  ^schylaean  in  its  outbreaks 
—  a  demonic  discontent  with  the  placidity  and 


"J 6  GREEK   VIGNETTES. 

poesy  of  the  other  Cyclades.  The  wonder  is  that 
it  did  not,  Hke  -^tna,  leave  more  enduring  traces 
behind  in  the  plastic  Greek  nature,  —  ^tna  that 
overshadows  so  mightily  the  idylls  of  Theocritus, 
and  makes  those  hot  Sicilian  warblings  cooler  by 
the  fantastic  shadow  of  its  background. 

Perfect  as  every  bit  of  rock  is  in  the  purple- 
WMtered  Levant,  the  rest  seem  commonplace  in 
comparison  with  this  lurid  cone  —  a  star-like  Hy- 
perion that  has  fallen  among  the  asphodels  and 
lilies.  It  carries  to  the  highest  point  that  inten- 
sity of  color  which  is  spread  over  the  East  like 
a  physical  imagination,  and  is  at  times  almost  too 
much  for  the  traveler  who  has  journeyed  from  a 
grayer  climate. 


At  last  in  Athens!  But  what  intense  disap^ 
pointment  does  the  first  view  of  this  celebrated 
city  give  rise  to  !  Incredible  dust,  parching  heat, 
squalor,  shabbiness,  and  general  neglect.  After 
a  delightful  sail  up  the  Saronic  Gulf,  past  Cape 
Suijium,  yEgina,  and  Salamis,  which  would  have 
been  more  delightful  had  I  not  been  a  little  un- 
well, we  steamed  into  the  winding  harbor  of 
Piraeus,  and  were  instantly  boarded  by  a  horde 
of  ravenous  boatmen,  eager  to  take  us  to  land, 
—  Sciotes,  Syrotes,  ^Eginotes,  lonians,  and  Al- 
banians. I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have 
done  in  the  universal  scrimmage,  had  I  not  fallen 
into  the  hands  (almost  into  the  arms)  of  the 
Ionian  dragoman,  Miltiades  Vidis,  who  spoke 
English.  While  I  stood  vainly  parleying  with 
the  captain  of  the  Lucifer^  who  did  not  under- 
stand French  or  German,  respecting  my  ticket, 
which  had  not  been  restored,  —  a  parleying 
which  was  as  ludicrous  as  it  was  distressing,  for 
it  soon  attracted  a  circle  of  curious  Athenians,  — 
the  blessed  Miltiades  fell  into  the  midst  of  us  as 
if  from  heaven,  and  at  once  made  the  captain  un- 


^8  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

derstand  that  I  wanted  my  ticket  back,  which 
was  a  return-ticket  and  was  to  get  me  to  Brindisi 
on  my  way  to  Liverpool.  The  cameriere  had 
neglected,  after  collecting  it  in  the  morning,  to 
hand  it  to  me  again.  Well,  Miltiades  was  worthy 
of  his  namesake  of  old,  and  we  came  out  victori- 
ous from  this  more  than  Marathon.  I  never  saw 
such  a  pertinacious,  prickly-tongued  set  as  these 
Piraeote  boatmen.  They  follow  you  up  and  down 
the  steamer,  peep  into  your  face  (and  perhaps 
into  your  pocket),  interrogate  with  eyes,  tongues, 
and  hands,  offer  to  take  you  ashore,  suggest 
hotels,  etc.,  and  though  you  say  No,  in  all  im- 
aginable languages  and  with  all  imaginable  em- 
phasis, they  keep  hanging  about  like  hornets,  and 
insist  on  giving  you  the  sting  of  their  services. 
A  sting  it  is  indeed  that  long  rankles  in  an  empty 
pocket,  for  there  is  no  settled  tariif  (as  there  is 
none  for  the  Athenian  d/xa^a/,  carriages)^  and  you 
are  literally  at  their  mercy.  Land  you  must,  for 
the  ship  is  out  in  the  harbor  and  you  cannot 
swim  ashore  with  a  portmanteau,  an  umbrella,  a 
pair  of  spectacles,  a  shawl,  an  overcoat,  and  a 
duster,  easy  as  it  seems  to  be  to  strip  off  in  this 
antique  atmosphere  and  plunge  into  the  sea.  It 
was  the  same  at  Syra,  the  morning  we  left,  on  the 
arrival  of  the  steamer  Mercuriox  Candia.  Though 
it  was  but  little  after  4  in  the  morning,  the  ship 
was  already  surrounded,  like  a  team  of  steaming 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  79 

horses,  with  a  swarm  of  gad-fly  boats  full  of 
naked-legged  lonians  in  waistcoat  and  fez,  who, 
even  before  the  Mercur  stopped,  boarded  her 
like  so  many  corsairs,  climbing  up  the  sides  and 
gangway,  amid  the  universal  scolding  and  damn- 
ing of  the  crew.  Thrice-blessed  (or  Trai^ayto?,  as 
they  say  in  the  Greek  church)  be  the  bronze- 
faced  Miltiades  for  rescuing  me  from  these  har- 
pies, interpreting  for  me  about  my  ticket,  putting 
me,  bag  and  baggage,  in  his  boat,  and  conveying 
me,  like  the  precious  Argosy  he  had  captured,  to 
a  a/m£^  that  stood  waiting  for  us  on  shore.  One 
felt  as  poor  Isaac  must  have  felt  when  the  ram 
appeared,  or  like  classic  Iphigenia  on  the  trans- 
formation. "  Shall  we  go  by  carriage  or  by  rail- 
way ?  "  inquired  I,  timidly,  of  the  ^gis-like  Mil- 
tiades, hoping  that  he  would  reply,  "  By  railway," 
for  I  knew  that  transportation  by  rail  was  only  a 
drachma,  and  my  rapidly  drained  pocket  shrank 
from  the  five  miles'  drive  to  the  Acropolis  in  an 
expensive  carriage.  "  By  carriage,"  replied  the 
inexorable  Miltiades,  seeming  to  read  my  inner- 
most heart  and  sternly  rebuking  any  economical 
instinct  left  lingering  there.  I  yielded,  as  he  had 
been  so  kind  already  and  would  doubtless  point 
out  to  me  many  objects  of  interest  along  the  road, 
and  he  did  in  fact.  The  road  runs  for  a  while  be- 
side the  Long  Walls  of  Themistocles,  and  in  sev- 
eral places  their  foundations  and  superstructure, 


80  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

to  a  considerable  extent,  are  laid  bare,  —  a  piece 
of  admirable  masonry,  to  have  resisted  leveling 
Lacedaemonians,  Venetians,  Turks,  and,  most 
reckless  of  all,  Athenians  themselves.  Only  the 
wall  on  the  right,  covered  with  ages  of  dust  and 
blackened  by  weather-stains,  was  visible  as  we 
drove  along.  For  some  time  we  followed  this 
great  jugular  vein  of  ancient  Athens,  a  vein  con- 
necting it  with  the  vitality,  the  vigor,  and  the  liv- 
ing energy  of  the  sea.  We  stopped  at  a  rude  inn 
where  a  fellow  in  the  national  costume  refreshed 
Miltiades  with  a  glass  of  something  green  out  of 
a  pink  decanter.  I,  meanwhile,  sat  looking  over 
his  book  of  recommendations  as  a  guide,  and 
found  to  my  surprise  many  well-known  and  dis- 
tinguished names.  I  say  surprise,  for  though  the 
appearance  of  -the  dragoman  was  eminently  hon- 
est and  kind,  I  did  not  judge  from  his  English 
that  he  had  been  in  such  distinguished  company. 
I  found  letters  and  recommendations  from  Sydney 
Colvin,  Newton  of  the  British  Museum,  H.  Mac- 
lean, Henry  T.  Stanley,  Amelia  B.  Edwards, 
Oscar  Browning,  and  some  English  noble  folk, 
all  carefully  folded  and  pasted  in  the  book,  and 
all  cordially  uniting  in  commending  the  care, 
kindness,  and  polyglot  accomplishments  of  my 
savior.  He  seemed  proud  that  I  recognized  so 
many  names,  said  he  had  been  in  America  three 
years,  but  (with  decided  pride)  learned  his  Eng- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  8 1 

lish  in  London,  had  served  a  secretary  of  lega- 
tion or  two,  and  knew  all  the  classic  places  by 
heart.  He  announced  to  me  as  we  drove  along, 
"  Yonder  dee  spot  where  Admiral  Themistoclee 
bore  on  the  Prussian  ship,''  while  I  sat  mute  with 
indignation  and  horror  and  looked  out  for  the 
imaginary  spot.  "  Yonder  dee  Hymettus  where 
you  get  honey  for  your  breekfast,"  whilst  I  was 
supposed  to  be  licking  my  lips  at  this  savory 
announcement.  ^'  Dere  dee  Acropolis,"  point- 
ing to  a  mass  of  dirty-looking  ruins  scowling  in 
the  distance,  and  in  which  I  in  vain  tried  to  recog- 
nize the  dazzling  contours  of  the  far-darting  Par- 
thenon. Is  that  the  Parthenon  ?  I  could  not  help 
muttering  to  myself,  over  and  over  again,  like 
Keats's  ancient  beadsman.  Am  I  at  Athens  t 
Is  this  Miltiades  Vidis  ?  In  these  vague  and 
vast  inquiries  time  fled,  and  presently  we  found 
ourselves  with  a  mouthful  of  dust  and  a  library 
of  information  from  our  guide  before  the  The- 
seum.  How  noble  and  pensive  it  looked  in  the 
evening  light !  Inconceivably  gray  and  grand  it 
stood  on  its  plateau  almost  intact  from  a  remote 
antiquity.  I  saw  or  thought  I  saw  children  play- 
ing among  the  columns  —  bits  of  Yesterday  be- 
fore this  Ancient  of  Days.-^  Our  horses  were, 
however,  too  quick-footed  for  my  eyes  to  tarry 

1  An  annual  festival  is  held  in  the  square  in  which  this 
Temple  of  Theseus  is  situated,  when  the  strange  and  stately 


82  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

long  on  this  famous  cynosure,  and  we  were 
whirled  on  through  a  labyrinth  of  excruciating 
streets.  Everybody  seemed  to  be  in  them,  too, 
and  our  coachman  uttered  strange  cries,  in  a 
boulevard  Greek  perhaps  as  old  as  Homer,  for 
the  obstructers  to  get  out  of  the  way.  Narrow, 
winding,  and  squalid,  these  streets  wind  and 
twine  on  themselves  like  bewildered  corkscrews, 
until  they  debouch  into  the  o^o^  kloXov  or  the 
6S09  ''E/)/xoi;,^  the  two  principal  thoroughfares  of 
the  city.  For  the  first  time  I  saw  the  national 
costume  with  sufficient  frequency  to  take  in  its 
details :  ^  shoes  or  slippers  of  red  undressed 
leather,  with  a  tuft  of  worsted  like  a  pen  wiper  on 
the  pointed  and  upturned  toe  ;  leggins  of  white 
cloth  fitting  close  to  the  legs  and  clasped  at  the 
knee  by  a  garter,  which  is  often  varied  by  strips 
of  cloth  wrapped  in  contrary  directions  round  the 
calf  of  the  leg ;  then  a  petticoat  or  kilt  of  white 
cloth,  which  may  be  of  various  fullnesses,  in  in- 
numerable  folds,   reaching  hardly  to  the  knee  ; 

dances  of  the  modern  Greeks  —  the  men  dancing  with  each 
other  —  may  be  observed  in  the  open  air. 

^  The  same  name  belonged  to  one  of  the  Athenian  streets 
in  antiquity,  as  Jebb,  in  his  Attic  Orators,  mentions. 

2  The  costume  is  of  high  antiquity,  and,  though  coming 
originally  from  the  Albanians  and  adopted  as  a  national 
costume  only  since  the  War  of  Independence  in  1821-28, 
has  been  observed  on  a  coin  of  Pyrrhus  now  in  the  Museum 
at  Naples. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  2>l 

then  a  waistcoat,  embroidered  or  not  according  to 
the  taste  or  means  of  the  wearer,  and  fitting  close 
to  the  figure.  Some  have  tight  white  sleeves, 
others  large  and  flowing  ones,  or  false  sleeves  of 
dark  cloth  hanging  from  the  shoulder.  Many 
have  a  gay  sash  round  the  loins.  A  red  fez, 
with  or  without  a  long  blue  tassel,  surmounts  and 
completes  the  costume,  which  on  slender  figures 
is  very  graceful,  but  on  stout  or  paunchy  ones  in- 
finitely awkward.  To  see  a  great  waddling  Athe- 
nian, with  his  kilt  starched  stiff  and  standing  out 
at  right  angles  with  his  hips,  like  a  sunflower, 
pufhng  and  laboring  through  this  dust  and  sun- 
shine, is  a  scene  to  excite  commiseration.  The 
costume  is  varied  in  a  great  many  ways.  Blue 
stockings  to  the  knee,  and  a  bright  blue  or  many- 
colored  waistcoat,  with  a  straw  hat  instead  of  a 
fez,  may  be  seen,  making  a  stylish  contrast  with 
the  white  Albaniote  kilt.  There  is  a  resemblance 
between  this  dress  and  that  of  the  Scotch  High- 
landers.^    I   see   women   stepping    about    in    a 

1  The  king  wears  the  national  costume  on  state  occa- 
sions, and  it  must  be  confessed  there  is  a  great  deal  of  grace 
in  it.  It  gives  a  peculiar  swing  and  stateliness  to  the  figure. 
One  is  reminded  of  the  grave  walking  of  antiquity  such  as 
Plato  says  was  a  part  of  (what  he  calls)  (rco(l)po(Tvv7j.  To 
see  its  wearers  adjusting  themselves  at  table  or  sauntering 
slowly  and  majestically  across  the  square,  calls  up  a  vision 
of  former  life,  which,  however  different  in  particulars,  bears 
a  close  resemblance  to  the  life  of  to-day. 


84  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

Strange  and  beautiful  costume  —  the  same  cos- 
tume nearly  as  that  described  by  Williams  in  his 
account  of  Theresa,  Byron's  ^'  Maid  of  Athens." 
The  most  remarkable  part  of  it  is  the  brilliant 
red  cap  arranged  coquettishly  among  the  hair 
and  hanging  gracefully  on  one  side  with  a  splen- 
did pendent  golden  tassel.  In  several  cases  this 
was  worn  in  contrast  with  a  black  silk  dress  and 
black  lace  shawl.  Only  a  parasol  shielded  the 
head  and  face  from  the  sun.^  European  costumes 
are  very  general.  How  the  men  can  wear  the  fez 
in  this  blinding  light  I  cannot  see,  for  it  has  no 
protection  for  eyes  or  ears,  and  must  be  hot ;  so 
also  must  be  the  close-wrapped  leggings.  What 
they  have  on  under  all  this  I  am  at  a  loss  to  con- 
ceive. The  necessity  of  frequent  change  of  such 
clothing  is  obvious,  —  no  rain  for  weeks  and 
months,  —  and  whirling  dust,  as  in  Northern 
China,  nearly  all  the  time.  It  is  as  bad  as  Rome 
in  midsummer. 

Just  as  we  entered  or  rather  crossed  Eolus 
Street  we  had  a  magnificent  glimpse  of  the  Acrop- 
olis and  its  four  hundred  feet  of  historic  perpen- 
dicular. No  position  more  glorious  for  a  fortress 
or  a  temple  could  be  imagined  —  commanding, 
isolated,  and  towering,  like  Athens  itself  in  the 

1  The  queen  and  her  ladies  of  honor — scions  of  the  great 
Greek  families  of  Botzaris,  Kolokotroni,  Mavrocordato,  and 
others  —  occasionally  wear  it. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  85 

hubbub  of  Greek  republics.  All  around  purpling 
and  crimsoning  mountains; — the  blush  of  Lyca- 
bettus,  the  violet  of  Hymettus,  the  gleam  of  the 
sea  at  Phalerum,  and  the  glamour  of  Parnes  and 
^galeos  in  the  distance.  High  up  loomed  this 
immortal  eminence,  symbol  of  intellectual  and 
aesthetic  eminence,  and  an  undying  relic  of  the 
unattainable  past.  When  I  got  to  the  hotel, 
bathed,  and  went  out  in  the  twilight  among  the 
glorious  ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  Olympius, 
I  could  not  help  a  feeling  of  strangeness  and  awe 
at  the  surrounding  desolation.  The  noble  Corin- 
thian colurns  of  this  temple,  the  hoary  and  time- 
stained  arch  of  Hadrian,  the  beautiful  ridge  of 
flowering  Hymettus  on  the  east,  and  the  Parthe- 
non faintly  flushed  by  the  setting  sun,  made  truly 
a  hive  of  busy  recollections.  And  then  the 
strange  Greeks  one  saw.  There  was  a  kilted, 
blue-waistcoated  Albanian  talking  to  a  Greek 
priest  in  black  gown  and  steeple-crowned  hat ; 
white-buskined  peasants  driving  donkeys  and 
armed  with  revolvers ;  Greek  soldiers  in  red 
jackets  and  blue  trousers;  Greek  school-boys 
fresh  from  their  Xenophon  and  Thucydides ; 
groups  of  Athenian  ladies  among  the  columns, 
in  European  panier  and  chapeau;  many-colored 
strangers  from  all  parts  of  the  East  and  West,  — 
all  these  standing  or  walking  in  striking  tableau 
among  the  ruins  on  the  road. 


86  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

We  got  up  this  morning  early  and  took  a  walk 
after  the  morning  Ka^<^k%^  which  all  the  Greeks, 
like  the  French  and  Italians,  seem  to  favor  as  a 
preparation  for  the  dejeuner  d  la  fourchette,  I 
turned  up  in  the  direction  of  the  palace,  a  great 
barrack-like  quadrangle  with  a  rich-colored  Pen- 
telic  portico,  marble  plinths  and  window-frames, 
and  spacious  balcony  in  front.  The  glare  from  it 
in  this  atmosphere  is  almost  intolerable.  It  is 
an  anomaly  in  government  that  King  George 
lives  in  a  rented  palace  :  singularly  suggestive, 
too,  of  the  slightness  of  the  kingly  tenure.  The 
palace  is  the  property  of  the  late  King  Otho's 
heirs.  In  front  there  is  a  wide  space  unin- 
closed,  and  interrupted  here  and  there  by  a  mag- 
nificent group  of  aloes,  oleanders,  and  myrtle. 
The  palace  looks  in  a  straight  line  down  Hermes 
(or  Ermes,  if  we  mean  to  follow  the  modern 
Greek  contempt  for  aspirates)  Street,  over  the 
beautiful  tropical  garden  of  the  Constitution 
Square.  In  the  centre  of  this  square,  which  is  a 
perfect  thicket  of  myrtle,  orange,  aloe,  cactus, 
cypress,  and  pepper  trees,  there  is  a  fountain 
playing,  and  beyond  lies  the  street,  interrupted 
by  a  very  curious  and  very  ancient  Byzantine 
church. 

This  church  is  to  the  modern  specimens  of  that 
style  of  architecture  what  the  miniatures  of  Hans 
Memling  are  to  the  large  canvases  of  the  Ve- 


GREEK  VIGNErrES.  2>7 

netians.  We  strolled  along  by  the  palace  and 
turned  down  a  spacious  avenue  by  the  Hotel  de 
la  Grande  Bretagne.  It  is  a  gross  slander  to  say 
that  new  Athens  is  like  a  modern  German  city; 
this  street,  particularly,  is  more  like  some  of  the 
beautiful  avenues  that  radiate  from  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  at  Paris,  of  course  on  a  small  and  as 
yet  quite  incomplete  scale.  Did  any  dingy  Ger- 
man city — even  Munich,  the  best  of  them — ever 
have  anything  like  some  of  these  exquisite  mar- 
ble fronts,  with  their  Corinthian  and  Ionic  colon- 
nades, their  niched  statuary,  their  balustrade-like 
cornice  surmounted  by  grouped  and  classic  urns  ? 
None  that  I  have  seen.  They  are  part  and  par- 
cel of  this  climate,  where  the  marble  floor  of  the 
Parthenon,  after  the  pacing  of  myriads  of  feet, 
the  assaults  of  various  armies,  the  rains  of  more 
than  two  thousand  summers  and  winters,  and  the 
rubbish  accumulated  since  the  time  of  Pericles,  is 
nearly  as  white  to-day  as  in  the  year  of  its  build- 
ing. It  is  true  there  are  many  houses  here  which, 
being  built  of  broken  limestone  and  faced  with 
stucco,  do  resemble  houses  in  Teutonic  Europe. 
But  it  is  wrong  to  say  that  the  Athenian  city  is  in 
the  least  German.  Several  German  architects  of 
eminence  have  for  years  been  at  w^ork  in  laying 
out  and  building  the  handsomer  portions  of 
Athens  ;  but  they  have  failed  to  impress  on  their 
work  the  usually  so  distinct  Germanic  individual- 


88  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

ity.  Many  of  the  houses  I  passed  were  very 
beautifully  built.  The  marble  was  polished  and 
of  a  mellow  cream  color;  the  windows  without 
shutters  and  shaded  by  the  movable  Venetian 
blinds  toned  to  suit  the  house ;  gardens  full  of 
delicious  scents  extended  on  the  sides,  and  here 
and  there  within  the  grounds  some  small  poly- 
chromatic building  relieved  the  intense  bright- 
ness of  the  polished  surfaces.  I  walked  down  by 
the  royal  garden  behind  the  palace,  a  garden 
designed  by  the  former  Queen  Amalie/  after 
whom  the  street  running  down  the  front  of  the 
palace  is  named  (686?  'A//aAtas).  It  is  some- 
what disappointing  to  see  a  royal  garden  sur- 
rounded by  a  rather  dilapidated  wooden  fence 
painted  a  dingy  olive  green ;  but  as  soon  as  you 
look  beyond  the  fence,  the  eye  and  the  senses 
are  delighted  with  the  aromatic  wilderness  spread 
out  before  them.  It  all  seemed  so  familiar  to 
me :  the  yellow  exquisite-scented  acacia,  the  pink- 
blossomed  mimosa  trembling  in  golden  sunlight, 
the  graceful  china-trees  with  their  bunches  of 
ripe  berries,  the  dusty  fig  and  silvery  olive,  the 
orange  and  white-flowered  palmetto,  the  laura- 
mundi,  the  fleche-like  cypresses,  the  throng  of 
embattled  century-plants  that  recalled  an  episode 

1  The  well-known  lady  of  whom  About  said  that  while 
the  king  examined  all  state  papers  without  signing  them, 
she  signed  them  all  without  examining  them. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  89 

in  the  early  life  of  Heine  and  crowded  impene- 
trably on  one  side  of  the  garden  fence.  I  had 
seen  them  all,  and  more  than  these,  in  my  own 
southern  home.  But  where  was  the  grass  ?  Not 
a  sprig  of  it  apparently  on  the  thirsty  soil,  all 
burnt  up  by  the  touch  of  the  sirocco.  Still  the 
garden  is  delightfully  dense,  and  royal  courtesy 
opens  it  several  hours  every  day  to  the  public. 
Why  cannot  all  this  wonderful  plain  be  planted 
in  the  same  maimer  ?  Light  as  the  soil  is,  there 
are  ineradicable  figs  and  olives,  cypresses  and 
lentisc,  growing  now  where  they  grew  in  the  time 
of  Plato.  And  there  are  long  cypress-bordered 
avenues  shooting  out  in  various  directions  where 
the  trees  seem  most  vigorous.  There  is  even  a 
luxuriant  forest  between  the  Piraeus  and  Athens. 
Many  streets  are  shaded  by  long  lines  of  feathery 
pepper-trees,  which  have  been  naturalized  in 
Greece  and  are  highly  graceful  in  their  light  and 
tremulous  foliage. 

I  walked  on  down  through  the  glare  and  dust 
of  the  street,  seeking  shade  wherever  I  could  find 
it,  and  stopping  now  and  then  to  notice  numerous 
large  houses  in  process  of  erection  in  various  di- 
rections. The  striking  cone  of  Lycabettus,  where 
there  is  the  reservoir  which  supplies  Athens  with 
water,^  was  before  me  all  the  time,  and  the  range 

.  1  See  Faucher's  Streifzuge  for  a  curious  account  of  the 
ceremonies  with  which  this  and  other  waters  are  annually 


90  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

of  Hymettus,  looking  almost  near  enough  to  touch. 
There  is  no  distance  in  such  an  atmosphere.  I 
passed  several  beer-gardens  full  of  plants  and 
flowers,  one  called  17  X^vky]  irepLorTepy,  with  a  white 
dove  painted  over  the  portal  and  inside  a  tangle 
of  perfumes  and  blossoms.  The  oleander  is  more 
beautiful  here  than  I  have  ever  seen  it,  except  in 
Louisiana.  The  air  is  laden  with  it  as  you  pass, 
and  it  seems  to  delight  in  drought  and  sunlight. 
After  a  while  I  turned  back  and  walked  along  be- 
hind the  palace  garden,  every  now  and  then  catch- 
ing glimpses  of  a  marble  capital  or  a  piece  of  cor- 
nice lying  in  among  the  trees,  probably  found 
there  when  the  garden  was  laid  out,  many  years 
ago.  The  song  of  the  cicada  came  to  me  over 
the  fence,  full  of  the  sweetest  associations.  In 
our  own  sunny  South  I  had  learned  to  love  it  in 
my  earliest  childhood,  and  to  listen  for  it  on  brill- 
iantly sunny  days.  We  children  used  to  catch 
the  cicadas  and  make  them  sing  for  us  by  a  little 
cruelty.  A  gentle  squeeze  would  make  them 
break  out  into  shrill  song.  And  then,  what  was 
our  delight  if  we  found  the  shell  of  one  that  had 
been  shed  and  left  sticking  to  some  huge  old 
black-jack!  Added  to  such  pleasant  recollections 
were  those  drawn  from  Greek  poetry,  the  lines  of 
Anacreon,  the  lovely  epigrams  of  the  anthology, 

Messed  by  the  church,  that  they  may  not  dry  up  and  leave 
the  town  waterless. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  91 

the  tender  sentiment  attached  to  such  ephemeral 
existences  by  the  Melic  poets,  the  dream  of  beauty, 
gayety,  and  evanescence  which  they  symbolized 
to  the  laughing  Athenians.  They,  like  the  imper- 
ishable olive  groves  of  Academe,  cannot  be  burnt 
out  by  any  blaze  or  broil  of  the  sun ;  rather  they 
are  the  children  of  the  sun,  and  find  in  him  their 
germinant  principle.  In  a  short  while  my  walk 
brought  me  in  sight  of  the  noble  group  of  Jupiter 
Olympius,  a  group  of  grand  pillars  still  surmounted 
by  their  architrave,  standing  on  a  gentle  eminence 
and  looking  straight,  from  one  of  the  fagades, 
on  the  deep  blue  bay  of  Phalerum.  A  white  sail 
could  be  seen  now  and  then,  and  a  wavy  mountain 
line  like  the  ripple  of  a  nereid's  blue  hair.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  poetic  than  the  situation  of 
these  majestic  relics  of  antiquity,  or  more  picture- 
like than  the  landscape  which  they  frame ;  no 
matter  which  way  you  look,  an  unrivaled  perspec- 
tive of  the  Acropolis,  with  the  noble  Panathenaic 
frieze,  and  the  Parthenon,  or  what  is  left  of  it, 
peeping  over  the  wall ;  then  the  Saronic  Gulf,  blue 
as  the  flames  of  alcohol  or  sulphur,  the  Pentelic 
range,  the  distant  sapphire  of  Peloponnesian 
peaks,  and  even  the  cathedral-like  Acrocorinthus. 
A  Greek  church  or  two  lay  in  the  foreground, 
with  graceful  oriental  campanile  opening  here 
and  there  into  arches  upheld  by  Ionic  pillars  and 
holding  a  huge  bell,  like  a  brazen  lily,  in  their 


92  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

heart.  The  three  hundred  churches  which  Athens 
is  said  to  have  had  in  the  time  of  Justinian  have 
dwindled  into  twenty  or  thirty. 

Yesterday  evening  after  our  5  o'clock  dinner  I 
sallied  forth,  glass  and  guide-book  in  hand,  to  see 
the  sunset  from  the  Parthenon.  As  usual  I  in- 
stinctively took  the  longest  way.  Turning  up  the 
bright  new  street  beside  the  hotel,  I  diverged  to 
the  right  after  a  while  and  found  myself  in  the 
usual  labyrinth  of  alleys  that  skirt  the  environs  of 
Turkish  Athens  everywhere,  a  labyrinth  full  of 
low  drinking  shops,  cafes,  and  inns,  some  with 
arched  doorways  like  pictures  of  the  place  of 
the  Nativity,  opening  on  large,  dingy,  stable-like 
rooms  with  a  few  rude  tables  and  chairs  scattered 
about.  Most  of  the  houses  were  low,  of  one  or 
two  stories,  with  an  occasional  tree  or  trellised 
vine,  or  pot  of  basil.  They  w^ere  rough  stuccoed 
affairs,  many  of  them  like  pictures  of  the  lacus- 
trine hovels,  abounding  in  children,  cats,  sol- 
diers, red-fezzed  men,  and  bare-headed  women. 
For  a  time  I  was  quite  bewildered  in  this  pecul- 
iarly Turkish  and  Albaniote  precinct  of  Athens, 
where  little  Greek  is  spoken,  but  I  gradually 
emerged  on  the  Pelasgic  slope  of  the  Acropolis 
and  picked  my  way  over  the  debris  in  front  of 
the  Dionysiac  Theatre. 

In  strange  contrast  with  the  surrounding  si- 
lence and  squalor  were  the  groups  of  dirty  Greek 


GREEK   VIGNETTES.  93 

children  playing  about  among  the  ruins,  and  the 
solitary  peasants  who  seemed  to  be  hanging 
around  in  the  approaching  twilight  with  anything 
but  benevolent  intent.  I  soon  learned,  however, 
that  Athens  is  perfectly  safe.  I  wandered  on 
and  soon  got  among  the  wilderness  of  unrecog- 
nized ruins  and  localities  adjacent  to  the  Dionys- 
iac  Theatre.  The  ground  was  covered  by  a  nu- 
merous populace  of  broken  statues,  metopes, 
pieces  of  architraves,  relics  of  gracefully  carved 
capitals,  tombs,  steles,  and  fluted  pillars.  Many 
were  covered  with  inscriptions  interrupted  at  all 
points  by  sudden  and  disastrous  fractures  —  inar- 
ticulate cries  in  marble.  The  whole  was  like 
what  one  imagines  a  graveyard  to  be  at  the  Res- 
urrection —  a  hopeless  jumble  of  conflicting  and 
incoherent  individualities.  There  was  a  kilted 
peasant  near,  drawing  water  out  of  a  well  and 
washing  his  face  from  the  bucket.  The  ground 
was  full  of  excavations,  drains,  basements  of  un- 
known buildings,  walls  running  in  various  lines, 
then,  as  if  themselves  struck  with  a  paroxysm  of 
doubt,  stopping  short  and  ending  in  nothing.  A 
huge  archway  of  a  vaulted  subterranean  passage 
opened  suddenly  as  if  revealed  by  an  earthquake. 
Wells  were  sunk  here  and  there.  Mountains  of 
rubbish  lay  about  which  not  even  German  schol- 
arship has  yet  sifted.  Then  I  came  to  the  site 
of  Curtius's  excavations  in  1862,  —  the  deep  sem- 


94  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

icircle  of  the  Odeum  of  Herod,  with  bewitching 
glimpses  of  Salamis,  .^gina,  and  the  mountains 
through  the  ruined  windows.  Could  there  be  a 
more  perfect  framework  for  such  a  scene  than  a 
ruined  window  with  waving  grasses  hanging  from 
it,  and  the  blue  laughter  of  the  sea  scintillating 
up  ?  Not  far  off  was  the  great  theatre  where 
the  plays  of  ^schylus  and  Sophocles,  Euripides, 
Aristophanes,  and  Menander  were  performed, 
not  in  the  life-time  of  the  four  former,  but  with 
splendor  after  their  death.  The  amphitheatre  of 
seats  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock  is  uncomfortably 
vertical.  Spectators  in  the  upper  tiers,  like  spec- 
tators at  Drury  Lane  and  Covent  Garden  in  the 
amphitheatre,  must  have  looked  down  on  the 
heads  of  the  chorus  and  officiating  priests.  The 
orchestra,  near  which  were  the  best  seats  during  a 
representation,  struck  me  as  small.  Here,  indeed, 
on  the  slope  of  the  southeastern  Acropolis,  might 
Symonds  have  written  his  brilliant  chapter  on 
Aristophanes,  and  have  conceived  the  varied 
movement  and  multiplicity  of  the  sacred  Dionys- 
iac  festival.  But  I  cannot,  like  him,  conceive 
the  sacred  obscenity  of  that  scene,  the  religious 
licentiousness  of  its  observance,  the  fleshly  epiph- 
any and  apotheosis  of  the  strange  pagan  celebra- 
tion, —  the  long  line  of  waving  Bacchanals,  the 
ivy-wreathed  boys  and  Silenus-faced  priests.  And 
all  this  passed  away !  Owls  and  prickly  pear  have 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  95 

replaced  the  wisdom  and  wit  of  Aristophanes. 
Aloes  send  up  their  far-darting  spires  where  the 
shaft  of  sarcasm  flew  from  tier  to  tier.  Broken 
stones  are  the  mournful  remnant  of  the  elegant 
symmetry  of  the  Odeum.  Rooks  caw  over  the 
Parthenon  and  haunt  this  desolation  in  the  twi- 
light. The  immemorial  violet  and  crocus  and 
narcissus,  that  blend  with  honey  in  scattering  their 
scent  over  the  field  of  Attic  poetry,  flourish  in 
the  spring-time  in  the  crevices  of  the  surround- 
ing rock.  Wild  oats  wave  from  the  inaccessible 
walls  of  the  mighty  citadel  of  violet  -  crowned 
Athens.  There  is  no  longer  the  apparition  of  the 
chryselephantine  work  of  Phidias  lifting  its  helmed 
head  over  the  Propylaea,  and  making  its  spear- 
point  glitter  like  a  star  over  the  turbulent  city. 

Before  turning  in  the  rude  wooden  gate  that 
admits  visitors  to  the  summit,  one  comes  on  a 
scene  of  almost  savage  ruin  and  bereavement. 
Perhaps  not  even  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars  is  a 
scene  of  more  intricate  architectural  problems 
and  identifications  than  this  vestibule  to  the  most 
glorious  of  earthly  temples.  For  a  time  (being 
without  a  guide  and  wandering  at  will)  I  was  in 
doubt  how  to  gain  the  entrance,  which  stood  con- 
siderably above  us.  Finally,  after  eluding  the 
clutches  of  an  old  trinket  and  rosary  vender  who 
had  a  basket  of  jugs  and  jars  for  sale,  I  climbed 
up  and  knocked  with  the  handle  of  my  umbrella. 


96  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

At  length  I  succeeded  in  attracting  the  attention 
of  a  Httle  dog  that  barked  shrilly  and  came  run- 
ning to  meet  me.  We  soon  made  friends  with  the 
bright-eyed,  laughing-faced  fellow,  and  presently 
one  of  the  old  revolutionists  of  '26-27  came  hob- 
bling to  meet  us.  He  seemed  pleased  at  the  sud- 
den intimacy  between  his  dog  and  the  visitors, 
and  admitted  us  without  hesitation.  I  was  sur- 
prised and  delighted  to  find  that  he  made  no 
movement  to  accompany  us,  —  a  movement  which 
was  found  very  necessary  when,  a  few  years  ago, 
a  thief  secreted  himself  among  the  ruins  and 
tried  to  sever  with  his  penknife  the  marble  toe  of 
the  Nike  Apteros,  —  and  we  soon  found  ourselves 
alone  within  the  inclosure  of  the  Parthenon,  the 
richest  mosaic  of  immortal  memories  that  our 
world  contains.  It  was  just  sunset.  The  air  was 
cooled  from  the  blue  fire  of  the  afternoon,  and  a 
gentle  wind  rustled  among  the  columned  temples 
and  gateway,  making  a  soft  music  for  the  genius 
of  the  place.  Everywhere  the  same  mouldering 
debris,  overrun  by  brambles  or  wild  cucumber 
vines,  —  cucumbers,  the  staple  fare  of  the  Athe- 
nian proletariat  of  Alciphron's  time,  and  which 
pursue  the  fleeing  traveler  in  all  imaginable 
states  of  composition  and  decomposition,  down 
to  the  hotel-fares  of  modern  times  ! 

Prostrate  columns  and  the  aesthetic  chaos  of 
an  overthrown  and  abandoned  worship  ran   riot 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  97 

in  every  nook  and  corner.  Huge  Doric  columns 
towered  upward  with  massive  architrave,  or  lay 
with  their  drums  scattered  on  the  ground,  with 
the  mark  of  the  iron  visible  where  they  were 
joined  together.  The  battle-held  of  scholars,  the- 
ologians, and  antiquaries  lay  all  about.  One  can- 
not conceive  how  so  much  could  have  been 
crowded  into  so  little  space.  Eleven  hundred  by 
five  hundred  feet  are  the  proportions  of  the  plateau 
of  the  Acropolis,  if  its  perverse  ups  and  downs 
can  be  called  a  plateau.  The  solid  base  rock  is 
visible  nearly  everywhere  except  in  the  Parthe- 
non itself.  One  is  lost  in  the  multitude  of  col- 
umns, chambers,  and  steps.  This  must,  under 
Pericles,  have  been  the  richest  cluster  of  build- 
ings the  eye  ever  dwelt  on  —  dense  as  a  bouquet 
of  flowers.  It  was  the  blossom  and  burden  of 
Attica  —  this  carven,  chromatic  hill,  full  as  any 
cornucopia  with  the  products  of  Athenian  skill. 
One  can  imagine  the  Athenians  content  with 
their  squalid  houses  when  their  eyes  turned  to 
this  splendid  crag  and  they  saw  there  the  glory 
of  Athenian  supremacy.  It  is  no  matter  of  mar- 
vel that  all  other  languages  were  jargon  to  them, 
and  all  other  nations  jargon-talkers  (Edpftapoi), 
No  one  has  ever  solved  the  riddle  of  this  supe- 
riority of  the  Greeks.  Think  of  their  magnificent 
drama  amid  the  surrounding  barbaric  silence.  It 
is  like  the  silver  peak  of  the  Jungfrau  among  the 
7 


98  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

mole-hills  of  the  Hottentot.  And  then  consider 
the  isolation  of  their  culture,  its  unique  devel- 
opment, its  many-sided  and  iridescent  grace.  Of 
course  there  is  much  of  the  same  intellectual 
spirit  among  the  distant  Hindoos  and  Chinese, 
but  there  is  an  element  of  the  grotesque  com- 
bined with  it  that  gives  to  all  that  these  nations 
have  said  and  done  a  something  out  of  time,  the 
tone  of  a  cracked  bell.  The  figure  of  Silenus  was 
as  near  as  the  Greeks  could  get  to  anything  that 
was  monstrous  in  art.  And  in  Silenus  the  union 
of  the  beast  and  the  man  was  relieved  by  the 
most  human  laughter.  Sometimes,  as  in  Vergil's 
Eclogue,  he  was  even  exalted  into  a  poetic  and 
philosophic  mentor.  The  streak  of  diabolism 
running  through  Japanese  art  finds  no  response 
in  the  Greek.  Winckelmann's  serenity,  Lessing's 
beauty,  are  found  there  in  abundance,  but  beyond 
the  harmless  satyrs  and  the  masques  of  Medusa, 
nothing  that  is  purely  and  fantastically  horrible. 
How  pure,  how  fragrant  are  these  sculptured 
shafts  surmounted  by  their  volutes  or  their  acan- 
thus leaves  !  how  different  from  the  ever-archaic 
Egyptian,  the  Indian  temple,  or  the  pagoda  of 
China ! 

I  wandered  among  the  pillars  of  the  Parthenon 
and  studied  out  the  peristyle,  pronaos,  opistho- 
domos,  and  cella,  as  well  as  the  present  condi- 
tion of  the  temple  allows.     Can  it  be  true,  as  Dr 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  99 

Mahaffy  in  his  recent  "  Rambles  "  affirms,  ^  that 
people  are  allowed  to  shoot  at  the  remnants  of 
the  wonderful  Panathenaic  frieze  ?  Or  has  the 
good  doctor  in  this  as  in  some  other  things  "  ram- 
bled '^  indeed  ?  It  is  inconceivable  that  the  Greek 
government  could  be  so  impotent  as  to  allow 
even  the  possibility  of  such  vandalism.  And  yet 
Bayard  Taylor,  I  think,  tells  us  that  the  monu- 
ment of  Botzaris  at  Mesolonghi  and  Ottfried 
Miiller's  monument  at  Athens  have  been  similarly 
maltreated.  And  the  Greeks  are,  as  Dr.  Mahaffy 
says,  sufficiently  careless  of  their  national  monu- 
ments. I  was  allowed  to  walk  the  whole  time 
alone,  while  the  ground  was  covered  with  valuable 
fragments  of  sculpture  —  many  small  inscribed 
pieces  that  any  one  might  take  away.  Several  of 
the  pillars  looked  to  me  on  the  point  of  tottering 
over,  which  a  little  bracing  would  secure  for  cent- 
uries. The  lame  and  futile  attempts  made  by 
King  Otho  to  reelevate  some  of  the  prostrate  pil- 
lars stand  to-day  as  a  monument  of  capriciously 
abandoned  purpose.  Tuckerman  enters  into  an 
interesting  calculation  about  the  cost  of  reerect- 
ing  the  columns  of  the  Olympieum,  and  tells  us 
that  those  which  are  fallen  could  be  raised  for 
$3,000  each.  The  columns,  floors,  and  stylobates 
are  written  over  with  the  innumerable  autograph 
of  fools,  who  have  left  behind  this  sole  record  of 
their  folly.    Everything  is  chipped  or  incised  with 


100  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

felomous  penknives  as  high  up  as  arms  can  reach. 
Lead-pencil  marks  are  tolerably  harmless,  for  the 
rain  will  soon  wash  them  away,  but  when  it  comes 
to  positively  sculpturing  Smith  and  Jones  in  the 
floors  and  on  the  pillars,  —  names  some  of  which 
date  back  to  the  early  decades  of  the  century, 
—  it  almost  seems  as  if  an  efficient  guardian 
should  accompany  visitors,  annoying  as  such 
guardians  generally  are.  The  Greek  government 
cannot  fret  with  foreign  governments  for  not  de- 
livering up  their  precious  fragments,  as  Dr.  Ma- 
haffy  well  remarks,  when  the  monuments  they 
have  in  their  possession  are  thus  bit  by  bit  pass- 
ing away.  Ages  of  quarrying  and  stealing  failed 
to  make  much  impression  on  the  Colosseum  till 
the  English  tourist  with  his  penknife  and  pencil 
arrived  on  the  spot.  In  this  way  the  Parthenon 
is  being  chipped  to  pieces  by  inches.  The  innu- 
merable idiots  that  visit  it  have  unwittingly  pil- 
loried their  own  names  for  the  execration  of  suc- 
ceeding ages.  I  noticed  the  same  autograph 
mania  on  top  of  the  Cathedral  of  Milan.  The 
delicate  pilasters  and  sculptures  that  make  a  mar- 
ble museum  of  its  roof  were,  wherever  it  was  pos- 
sible, scribbled  over  by  the  pack  that  ostensibly 
go  up  to  see  the  view,  but  really  it  seems  to  leave 
behind  their  wretched  names.  Jones,  Smith,  and 
Robinson  on  the  Acropolis  indeed !  Could  not 
a  Bridge  of  Sighs,  or  a  series  of  Pozzi,  be  con- 
structed for  these  people  ? 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  10 1 

—  I  was  interrupted  in  my  account  of  the 
Acropolis  by  the  sound  of  the  dinner-bell,  or 
rather  of  the  preparation-bell,  which  in  this  hotel 
rings  like  a  fire-bell  and  is  equal  to  an  American 
gong.  I  went  down  to  find  our  usual  table  d'hote 
set :  an  Englishman  talking  French,  a  Russian 
officer,  two  other  Britishers  just  returned  from  a 
trip  through  Syria  and  Constantinople,  and  five 
or  six  Greeks  talking  alternately  in  their  own  lan- 
guage and  in  French.  French  is  very  generally 
understood  in  Athens,  and  is  the  language  of  so- 
ciety, or  of  an  entertainment  where  foreigners 
might  be  present.  There  are  many  points  of  re- 
semblance between  the  Greeks  and  the  French. 
Their  eating  and  drinking  habits  and  hours  are 
the  same,  and  there  is  the  same  intellectual  quick- 
ness and  restlessness,  not  to  speak  of  the  simi- 
larity of  complexion  and  appearance.  The  fond- 
ness of  the  Greeks  for  France  is  seen  in  the 
publication  of  several  French  newspapers  at 
Athens.  To  be  sure,  the  French  always  has  a 
very  decided  accent,  but  then  it  is  at  least  intel- 
ligible, which  is  more  than  the  modern  Athenian 
can  say  for  his  attempts  at  other  languages. 
Some  of  these  Greeks  are  regular  habitues  of  the 
hotel,  and  have  their  silver  napkin  rings  and 
wine-marks  ;  others  are  transient  boarders,  rest- 
ing a  few  days  at  Athens  on  the  way  to  other 
places,  among  whom  are  the  two  Syrian  English- 


I02  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

men.  I  cannot  say  that  I  exactly  like  Greek 
fare.  The  cooks  spoil  everything  with  their  oil, 
the  associations  of  which  are  not  enhanced  when 
one  recollects  that  great  quantities  of  it  are  ex- 
ported to  —  grease  the  machinery  of  Manchester. 
The  red  mullet  which  we  had  for  dinner  would 
have  been  excellent  had  they  not  been  literally 
smothered  in  it.  After  this  there  were  toothsome 
culottes  de  veau,  with  tomato  sauce ;  then  a  very 
curious  dish  of  squashes  a  la  Grecque^  dressed 
with  cheese,  maccaroni,  and  hashed  meat,  and 
made  into  a  sort  of  baked  pudding  ;  last  of  all 
the  usual  China  bowl,  accompanied  by  a  mixed 
salad  of  cucumbers,  beets,  and  lettuce,  all 
drowned  in  oil.  Oil  is  in  the  air  and  in  the 
cuisine  here  everywhere.  The  dinner  was  com- 
pleted with  a  most  delicious  fruit  meringue  of 
apricots,  succeeded  by  peaches  and  pears.  In 
the  adjoining  Cabinet  de  Lecture  a  small  cup  of 
very  black  Turkish  coifee  is  served  regularly 
after  every  meal  —  a  thick  decoction,  very  sweet 
and  black,  with  a  chocolate-like  scum  on  top  and 
a  decided  layer  of  sediment  at  the  bottom.  It 
is,  served  without  spoons,  for  what  reason  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  divine,  except  that  to  stir  it  would 
be  to  make  it  insufferably  sweet.  At  breakfast 
the  same  morning  the  waiter  first  served  me  with 
a  huge  plateful  of  maccaroni,  dressed  with  toma- 
toes  and   cheese;  then  three  little  chops,  with 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  103 

potatoes  ;  then  cold  fowl,  cheese,  and  apricots. 
We  have  but  one  lady,  a  Russian,  who  sits  op- 
posite and  is  anything  but  handsome.  She  is 
a  blonde,  —  rare  at  Athens,  I  should  think,  — 
with  a  mountainous  coiffure  of  light  hair  and  ap- 
parently a  decided  predilection  for  the  French 
language,  which  she  speaks  across  the  table  with 
the  Russian  officer,  and  on  her  own  side  with 
the  Englishman  —  an  extremely  intelligent  fel- 
low, by  the  way,  who  seems  to  have  been  every- 
where, even  in  America  \  I  imagine  he  is  a  news- 
paper correspondent.  He  converses  with,  re- 
markable fluency  and  point. 

The   tranquillity  of  the  Hotel   des   E is 

undisturbed  save  by  an  occasional  arrival.  Stran- 
gers are  scarce  at  Athens  at  this  season.  Hence 
everybody  that  comes  is  received  with  open 
arms  and  frank  delight  by  mine  host  —  a  very 
handsome  Greek,  whom  I  have  heard  talking 
five  different  languages.  The  price  is  ten 
drachmae  (francs)  a  day  en  pension  and  twelve  for 
the  general  public. 

My  room  is  cool  and  pleasant.  From  the  bal- 
cony in  front  there  is  perhaps  the  most  magnifi- 
cent view  of  the  Acropolis  in  Athens.  I  have 
its  noble  and  majestic  profile  in  all  possible 
lights :  the  dewy  transparency  of  early  morning, 
the  shekina-like  glory  of  noon,  the  unutterable 
beauty  of  the  evening,  and  the  last  look  at  it 


I04  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

under  the  thick  crowding  stars.  After  a  while  I 
shall  have  the  full  moon  to  complete  this  chapter 
of  photo-landscapes. 

One's  only  trouble  (beyond  the  peregrinations 
of  insects  at  night)  is  the  frequency  and  emphasis 
of  the  cries  in  the  streets  below.  These  cries 
must  begin  at  least  at  four  in  the  morning,  and 
continue  more  or  less  all  day  —  fellows  driving 
asses  or  carrying  baskets  and  crying  their  wares 
to  the  quarter  in  which  we  live.  I  make  vain 
efforts  to  decipher  these  vocal  hieroglyphics,  but 
so  different  is  the  people's  language  from  the 
cultivated  or  the  written  Greek  that  I  can  make 
out  only  an  occasional  word  —  o-t)Ka,  etc.  I  fre- 
quently hear  KvpioL,  $v\o  !  (Wood,  Messieurs  !)  It 
is  a  question  of  great  interest  whether  the  efforts 
of  the  cultivated  modern  Greeks  to  lead  back 
their  language  to  its  original  purity  will  succeed. 
I  myself  cannot  but  believe  with  Wagner  that 
such  efforts  are  reactionary,  retrogressive,  and 
contrary  to  the  process  of  linguistic  growth.  The 
language  of  the  newspapers  is  no  doubt  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  language  of  the  markets,  the 
streets,  the  cafes,  and  the  theatre.  It  is,  I  think, 
almost  impossible  at  this  late  date  to  arrest  the 
analytic  tendency  of  modern  Greek  —  a  tendency 
universal  in  language  and  which  bears  immedi- 
ately on  the  rejection  or  expulsion  of  inversions, 
synthetic  verbal  and  declensional  forms,  gram- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  105 

matical  gender,  and  the  whole  paraphernalia  of 
antique  inflected  speech.  Already  the  accusative 
is  almost  universally  used  by  the  modern  Greek, 
as  it  is  by  all  the  Romance  languages,  as  the  case 
fitted  above  all  others  for  general  use.  Why  the 
accusative  should  have  been  selected,  except  on 
the  principle  of  its  frequent  use,  is  a  question. 
There  is  the  same  tendency  in  English  in  the 
perverse  substitution  of  the  dative  them  for  the 
earlier  Anglo-Saxon  accusative,  and  in  the  use  of 
him^  me,  thee^  etc.,  after  than  and  the  substantive 
verb.  The  same  tendency  to  use  the  accusative 
or  dative  is  traceable  in  Danish,  in  colloquial 
Italian,  and  in  other  languages.  I  can  seldom 
catch  an  inflection  in  the  talk  to  which  I  listen 
at  cafes,  perhaps  because  my  ear  is  not  yet  suffi- 
ciently cultivated  to  detect  these  niceties.  The 
aspirates  x  ^.nd  B  are  heard  with  disagreeable 
emphasis  and  frequency.  Otherwise  there  is  no 
aspiration.  One  is  inclined  to  think,  with  the 
author  of  "  Modern  Greek  in  its  Relation  to 
Ancient,"^  that  there  could  have  been  no  aspira- 
tion in  antiquity,  or  at  least  very  little  of  it.  If 
it  had  been  strong,  how  could  it  have  fallen  away 
so  perfectly  ?  The  written  sign  survives,  just  as 
the  written  h  in  Italian,  but  no  sound  is  heard. 
Or  may  there  not  have  been,  as  has  been  the 
case  with  our  English  h^  two  streams  of  usage 
1  Gel  dart. 


I06  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

and  tradition,  one  studiously  cultivated  by  the 
literate,  the  other  unconsciously  adopted  by  the 
illiterate  —  one  set  giving  the  rough  breathing, 
the  other  and  larger  set  ignoring  it  ?  A  glance 
into  early  English  literature  is  sufficient  to  show 
a  similar  state  of  things  with  regard  to  our  h. 
Seldom  neglected  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  (as  having 
back  of  it  acute  recollections  of  the  Germanic 
guttural)  we  find  its  use  fluctuating  and  unsettled 
all  through  the  great  popular  poems  of  Semi- . 
Saxon,  Early  English,  and  Middle  English  An- 
tiquity. Typical  instances  enough  might  be  col- 
lected to  prove  this  point  if  it  were  necessary,  — 
instances  gathered  from  Robert  of  Brunne's 
Chronicle,  the  Ancren  Riwle,  Robert  of  Glouces- 
ter, Piers  Plowman,  Chaucer,  and  the  Elizabethan 
poets.  It  seems  at  least  very  singular  that  if 
aspiration  were  the  rule  it  should  have  fallen 
away  so  universally.  Little  can  be  ascribed  to 
Turkish  influence  ;  indeed,  the  Turks  would  prob- 
ably have  assisted  in  preserving  this  characteris- 
tic accompaniment  of  Hellenic  pronunciation. 

Small  as  modern  Athens  is,  there  is  a  curious 
sort  of  comfort  in  knowing  that  it  is  after  all 
about  half  as  large  as  the  ancient  city,  /.  ^.,  the 
city  proper,  excluding  the  outlying  demes  and 
ports. 

Nothing  brings  out  more  vividly  the  transcend- 
ent cleverness  of  the  Athenians  than  this  small- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 07 

ness  of  their  noble  city.  A  handful  of  architects 
and  poets  have  dictated  to  the  world  and  exer- 
cised a  thralldom  which  the  world  will  never  throw 
off.  It  is  a  despotism,  too,  of  the  purest  intellect, 
the  keenest  intelligence,  the  most  piercing  and 
brilliant  insight.  We  see  it  in  the  agile  move- 
ments of  the  fleet  at  Salamis,  on  the  field  at  Mar- 
athon, in  the  deference  of  Roman  conquerors 
on  innumerable  historic  occasions,  even  at  the 
present  day  in  the  acute  business  qualities  of  the 
ordinary  Greek  commis.  These  characteristics 
have  remained  as  indelible  as  the  tracks  of  their 
triumphal  chariots  up  the  slope  of  the  Propylaea. 
Nearly  all  the  business  of  the  East  is  said  to  be 
in  their  hands,  not  to  say  in  their  pockets.  Their 
churches  and  monasteries  crown  every  height  and 
have  the  amplest  domains.  Even  the  newsboys 
of  Athens  are  as  lively  as  wildfire,  and  run  about 
all  day  long  cracking  jokes  and  selling  the  news. 
Are  they  like  the  Celts,  selling  more  newspapers 
and  reading  less  than  any  other  race  t  They 
have  as  many  faces  as  their  Temple  of  the  Winds, 
but  I  must  do  them  the  justice  to  say  that  I  have 
not  yet  (not  yet,  I  say)  been  tricked.  We  are 
d3dng  to  find  out  what  they  eat  and  drink,  eat 
and  drink  among  themselves,  I  mean,-  and  not  as 
shown  on  the  bill  of  fare  of  the  dinner-table. 
How  I  should  like  to  see  a  grand  old  Athenian 
menu  from  a  cook  that  talked  Doric  !    Doric  was 


I08  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

their  favorite  language,  and  no  doubt  their  recipes 
were  as  archaic.  I  shall  call  in  the  services  of 
Miltiades,  whom  I  see  hovering  about  our  vesti- 
bule, and  ask  him  to  give  me  a  list  of  the  boissons 
populaires  that  I  may  taste  each  and  all.  At  the 
hotel  I  am  going  through  the  list  of  vins  die  pays, 
white  and  red  Parnes,  white  and  red  Santorino, 
Samian,  and  Corinthian  wines.  The  resinated 
wine  I  have  not  yet  tasted.  There  is  no  taint  of 
resin  in  the  Fames  rouge  which  was  ordered  at 
breakfast  this  morning  and  which  is  labeled  in 
French  (!)  "  Cotes  de  Parnes."  All  the  popular 
drinks  that  contain  wine  are  said  to  be  strongly 
resinated,  a  circumstance  which  Pliny  says  gave 
wholesomeness  to  the  wine.  Taylor  and  other 
travelers  in  Greece  unite  in  saying  that  a  taste 
is  very  soon  acquired  for  this  wine,  and  it  is  after 
a  while  greatly  relished.  I  once  knew  a  mechanic 
whose  universal  remedy  —  no  matter  what  the 
disease  —  was  turpentine.  He  even  told  me  it 
was  good  for  new-born  infants.  So  the  Greeks, 
those  enfants  eternels,  may  have  thought.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  aromatic  than  the  spiced  and 
shadow-spangled  glades  of  a  pine  forest,  but  the 
exudations  from  the  bark  of  the  pine  would,  I 
should  think,  anything  but  improve  the  ethereal 
flavors  of  the  grape.  However,  I  mean  to  try 
for  myself.  Intrat  Miltiades  !  Alas  !  alas !  Mil- 
tiades told  us  yesterday  that  Dr.  Schliemann's 


GREEK  VIGNETTES. 


109 


treasures  had  been  locked  up.  They  had  just  as 
well  be  back  in  Agamemnon's  Tomb  or  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea.  He  gave  me  some  account 
which  I  could  not  quite  make  out,  that  they  had 
been  only  temporarily  put  away  until  they  could 
be  displayed  in  some  larger  building  than  the 
Bank,  or  National  Trapeze  (!),  as  the  modern 
Greeks  call  it,  —  aptly  enough  named  from  some 
of  its  performances,  —  where  they  have  been 
hitherto  lying.  Here  then  is  a  pretty  pickle,  — 
coming  four  or  five  thousand  miles  to  find  what 
one  came  to  see  locked  up  !  The  Greek  govern- 
ment should  surely  remember  that  there  are  many 
foreign  students  here  whose  chief  purpose  is  to 
see  these  treasures.  We  happen  to  know  of  four 
prominent  American  scholars  who  came  expressly 
to  see  them.  And  here  they  are  "interned,"  as 
they  said  in  the  Franco-German  war.  Nobody 
is,  I  suppose,  going  to  steal  them  \  why,  therefore, 
should  they  be  immured  in  the  vaults  of  the 
bank  ?  The  Greeks,  however,  know  themselves, 
if  they  do  not  know  foreigners. 

Yesterday  evening  after  dinner  we  went  down 
by  the  train  to  Phalerum  and  attended  the  open 
air  theatre  there.  How  curious  it  seemed  to 
me.  'A^^vat  €is  ^(xky\pov^  ^aXr\pov  €ts  ^h6y]va^  ;  SO 
read  my  return  ticket,  with  A  Oiai^  (first  class) 
added.  The  road  was  built  by  an  English  com- 
pany, is  about  four  miles  long,  and  rides  smoothly 


no  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

and  agreeably.  This  is  the  great  promenade  of 
Athens  :  take  a  ticket  for  Phalerum,  stroll  up 
and  down  the  lovely  beach,  and  then  sit  for  an 
hour  or  two  under  the  stars  listening  to  Greek  or 
Italian  music.  Modern  Greek  music  is  singu- 
larly nasal  and  monotone.  There  is  something 
wild  and  wailing  in  it.  I  have  heard  vocalization 
and  choral  chants  of  great  beauty  in  the  Russian 
church,  but  the  music  of  a  Greek  Easter,  for  ex- 
ample, is  like  a  seasick  Gregorian  chant.  It  is 
all  light  and  sound  and  lamb-eating  at  Easter-tide 
in  Greece.  Hettner  tells  how  the  rustic  popula- 
tion come  trooping  to  town  with  dressed  lambs 
slung  in  classic  fashion  across  their  backs  ;  of 
the  solemn  rites  in  the  churches ;  the  procession 
through  the  streets  with  lighted  candles ;  the  in- 
tense and  silent  expectation  up  to  twelve  o'clock 
the  night  before  Easter,  when  the  metropolitan 
suddenly  appears  in  the  cathedral  and  cries  Xptcr- 
^To%  avia-TT] !  (Christ  is  risen  !)  and  then  the  uni- 
versal outbreak  of  tumult,  fire-arms,  and  rockets. 
—  The  beau-monde  was  out  in  force  at  Phalerum 
this  evening.  I  was  glad  to  find  the  seats  num- 
bered, enabling  one  to  get  up  and  go  out  in  the 
intermezzos.  The  play  was  a  little  Italian  oper- 
ette  (^aTTcfxo),  and  the  music  was  really  charm- 
ing. I  cannot  say  much  for  Sappho's  beauty,  a 
tall,  dark-haired  Italian,  head  and  shoulders  above 
Phaon.     Phaon  had  a  pleasant  tenor  voice,  but 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  HI 

sang  and  acted  with  affectation.  There  was  a 
graceful  ballet,  at  which  the  Athenians  for  some 
inscrutable  reason  hissed,  for  there  were  no  legs 
and  no  indecency.  Of  course  the  dresses  were 
wonderfully  scant,  and  there  was  an  exhibition  of 
feminine  gymnastics,  as  in  all  ballets,  but  I  can- 
not believe  the  nation  of  Lais  and  Phryne  so 
prudish  .as  to  object  to  legs,  especially  when  the 
national  costume  seems  so  particularly  to  ignore 
them.  Possibly  there  may  have  been  something 
objectionable  in  the  characters  of  the  dancers. 
At  any  rate  there  was  vehement  applause  as  well 
as  vehement  hissing.  The  sensitiveness  of  Athe- 
nian audiences,  though  not  so  extreme  as  that  of 
the  Neapolitan,  is  evidenced  by  various  anecdotes 
which  have  come  down  to  us  from  the  time  of 
Euripides.  The  actors  were  sometimes  stoned 
off  the  boards.  Lucian,  says  Jebb,  describes  an 
impersonation  of  Ajax  so  vivid  that  the  "whole 
house  went  mad  along  with  Ajax  —  they  danced, 
shouted,  tore  off  their  clothes."  The  music  and 
the  mise-en-schie  this  special  evening  were  singu- 
larly appropriate.  Hardly  a  flutter  of  breeze, 
cloudless  tranquillity  above,  the  gentle  ripple  of  • 
the  ^gean  on  the  shore,  the  rich  mountain  out- 
lines gradually  withdrawing  themselves  in  purple 
obscurity,  the  gleam  of  multitudinous  stars,  the 
fragrance  of  the  salt  sea  and  scented  gardens,  all 
blending  with  the  classic  subject  and  the  delight- 


112  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

ful  music  to  make  an  almost  antique  picture. 
The  programme  or  libretto  was  in  Greek  inter- 
,  spersed  with  Italian  songs.  There  was  no  rich- 
ness in  the  costumes  or  special  virtuosity  in  the 
orchestra ;  and  yet  the  whole  dwells  in  my  mem- 
ory as  a  scene  to  be  remembered.  All  the  time 
I  felt  the  curious  anachronism  of  such  a  subject 
melodized  and  embalmed  in  the  luxurious  strains 
of  Italian  art.  The  simplicity  and  monotony  of 
the  ancient  Greek  music  seem  to  have  been 
great :  five  or  six  notes  and  the  old  Pythagorean 
octave.  In  spite  of  the  intricacy  of  some  of  their 
melodies  there  was  hardly  an  approach  to  orches- 
tral harmony  among  the  ancient  Greeks.  It  was 
left  for  the  morbid  susceptibilities  of  our  time  to 
find  their  vent  in  a  splendid  and  highly  developed 
scheme  of  musical  expression.  Beethoven  and 
Shakspere  are  what  we  have  to  pit  against  Homer 
and  the  Lydian  flutes.  It  is  the  difference  be- 
tween the  Parthenon  and  the  Cathedral  of  Co- 
logne. 

I  made  the  mistake  of  getting  two  tickets  in- 
stead of  one,  not  being  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  colloquial  Greek  to  rectify  the  error  after  I 
had  discovered  it.  The  incessant  talking  and 
humming  of  people  all  around  me  prevented  a  full 
enjoyment  of  my  first  musical  evening  in  Greece. 

Phalerum  Bay  is  peculiarly  beautiful.  An 
English   iron-clad   was   lying   at   anchor  in   the 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  II3 

offing,  and  several  of  her  tars  with  their  wide- 
awake, upturned  straw  hats  assisted  at  the  play. 
There  are  delightful  baths,  to  which  the  languid 
Athenians  continually  resort.  Fifty  lepta  for  a 
bath,  one  drachma  for  the  theatre,  and  one  for  the 
return  ticket,  make  up  an  evening's  amusement 
that  is  extremely  cheap  and  popular.  The  water 
is  shallow.  There  are  several  pretty  villas  on  the 
shore,  and  the  usual  series  of  Zei/o8ox€ta,  6o-rtapta 
and  Brasseries  along  it.  A  gay  multitude  sat  in 
front  of  them,  enjoying  the  balmy  air,  the  view, 
the  invariable  cigarette,  and  the  tiny  cup  of  coffee, 
preparatory  to  the  play.  An  evening  at  Pha- 
lerum  is  almost  the  only  summer  amusement  the 
Athenians  have.  One  would  think  these  beauti- 
ful mountains,  like  those  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Rome,  would  be  covered  with  villas ;  but  such 
has  been  the  insecurity  of  the  country  that  there 
are  none.  Little  villages  here  and  there  —  Pa- 
tissia,  Colonos,  Ambelokipos,  Kalandri  —  are 
sown  over  the  plain ;  but  they  all  hover  in  sight 
like  a  hen  and  her  chickens.  I  notice  in  the  hotel 
this  precautionary  placard :  "  Gentlemen  on  the 
point  of  making  excursions  will  please  inform 
the  proprietor  twenty-four  hours  beforehand." 
This  is  for  the  purpose  of  letting  the  authorities 
know  of  the  intended  journey  in  case  an  escort 
should  be  needed,  or  to  keep  them  on  the  look- 
out.    I  can  hardly  realize  the  necessity  for  these 


114  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

precautions,  all  seems  so  bright  and  safe  and 
.  open  in  Athens.  But  a  glass  pointed  at  the  sur- 
rounding mountain  chains  —  the  ridge  of  Hymet- 
tus,  the  passes  of  Daphne  and  Phyle,  the  peak 
of  Pentelicus  —  soon  discloses  an  absolute  soli- 
tude. Not  a  house,  hardly  a  tree,  is  to  be  seen. 
It  is  as  absolute  a  desert  as  the  Roman  Cam- 
pagna.  Deserted  as  it  seems,  however,  there  must 
be  vagrants  and  gypsies  nested  in  this  desert, 
for  otherwise  no  precautions  would  be  necessary. 
And  when  one  remembers  the  terrible  tragedy  of 
1870,  when  a  party  of  English  gentlemen  and 
ladies  was  attacked  and  four  of  the  party  mur- 
dered in  cold  blood  at  Marathon,  just  eight  miles 
from  Athens,  one's  archaeological  fever  abates,  to- 
gether with  the  hankering  after  visiting  memora- 
ble localities.  At  home  one  would  take  a  horse 
and  gallop  all  over  the  country  without  asking 
any  one's  grace.  A  guide-book  and  a  blue-lined 
white  umbrella  would  be  all  that  should  be  nec- 
essary. I  am  perpetually  puzzled  at  this  sug- 
gested lawlessness  of  the  Greeks.  The  country  is 
small,  everywhere  penetrated  at  least  by  horse- 
roads  and  bridle-paths ;  Thebes,  Eleusis,  Mara- 
thon, Delphi,  only  a  few  hours  distant ;  then 
there  should  be  perfect  safety  for  single  travelers. 
The  Athenians  boast,  too,  of  a  high  degree  of 
civilization  :  a  beautiful  university,  fifty  period- 
icals, private  and  public  schools,  handsome  muse- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,      \  1 15 

urns,  and  thousands  of  school-children  in  Athens 
alone.  Surely  there  should  be  some  fruits  of  all 
this  culture. 

The  misery  is  that  there  is  the  ineradicable 
Klepht  in  the  Greek  nature.  The  Greeks  will 
steal  and  murder  in  a  noble  sort  of  way  now  and 
then,  and  no  civilization  seems  able  to  refine  the 
instinct  away.  The  Klephts  are  no  doubt  fine 
fellows ;  they  sing  and  fight  well,  and  they  did 
splendid  service  in  the  Greek  war  of  independ- 
ence ;  but  it  is  time  their  thieving  and  murdering 
proclivities  should  cease  developing  and  periodi- 
cally throwing  the  whole  of  Greece  into  a  trance 
of  fear.  -The  accounts  which  Tuckerman  gives 
of  the  panic  at  Athens  when  the  aforesaid  gentle- 
men were  assassinated  —  two  of  them  secretaries 
of  the  English  and  Italian  embassies  at  the  court 
of  Greece  —  sound  incredible.  A  handful  of  ruf- 
fians defied  the  entire  Greek  government  for 
weeks,  and  half  of  them  eventually  escaped  into 
Turkey,  whence  they  had  come. 

The  traveler  is  irritated  at  the  never-ceasing 
necessity  to  take  a  guide,  to  inform  the  hotel- 
keeper,  to  inform  the  police,  to  inform  the  am- 
bassador, to  inform  the  government,  of  his  (the 
traveler's)  intentions,  and  to  carry  arms  on  jour- 
neys in  the  interior.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk 
about  Turkish  dominion,  misrule,  and  influence 
lingering  in   the   land.     Two   generations   have 


Il6  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

grown  up  since  the  Turkish  aristocracy,  furnished 
with  all  the  auxiliaries  of  modern  life,  —  police, 
constitutional  government,  libraries,  mails,  steam 
communication,  not  to  speak  of  the  churches  that 
dot  the  whole  land,  —  and  it  is  high  time  that  the 
Greeks,  if  they  are  not  a  mere  set  of  chatter-boxes, 
should  give  evidence  of  the  salutary  influence  of 
these  things  by  a  complete  extirpation  of  brig- 
andage. In  the  Ionian  Islands,  under  the  pro- 
tectorate of  Great  Britain,  brigandage  was  un- 
known, admirable  roads  penetrated  the  islands  in 
every  direction,  an  efficient  police  was  installed  and 
organized,  and  an  unrivaled  prosperity  reigned. 
I  cannot  see  why  the  Greek  government,  embar- 
rassed though  it  may  have  been  financially  since 
1827,  should  show  itself  so  impotent.  Their  silly 
and  eternal  caviling  in  politics,  their  intense  par- 
tisan spirit,  the  acrimony  of  their  parliamentary 
discussions,  and  the  recriminations  and  taunts 
tossed  about  from  side  to  side  politically,  fijl  the 
Phil-Hellene  with  despair.  What  is  the  use  of 
their  fine  ^ovky]^  and  all  their  fine  new  boulevards, 
national  costumes,  and  institutions,  if  this  con- 
tinual shiftlessness  is  to  go  on  ?  Happily  the 
recent  coalition  of  all  parties  under  the  leader- 
ship of  the  old  hero  Canaris  seems  to  be  leading 
to  something  like  harmony.  One  sickens  of  the 
Aristophanic  comedy  of  Greek  politics.  There 
are  no  parties,  —  why  should  there  be  partisans  ? 


GREEK  VIGNETTES. 


117 


There  is  rarely  any  policy  —  why  should  there 
be  any  politics  ?  Greece  is  in  the  condition  of 
bonhomme  Chrysale  in  Moliere's  "  Femmes  Sa- 
vantes  :  — 

"  L'un  me  brule  mon  rot  en  lisant  quelque  histoire  ; 
L'autre  reve  ades  vers  quand  je  demande  a  boire." 

In  the  government  everybody  wants  to  be  in., 
therefore  everybody  must  be  turned  out.  Hence 
the  perpetual  motion,  without  progress,  of  Greek 
politicians. 

At  10  we  left  Phalerum,  while  Sappho  was  still 
shrieking  out  her  swan-song.  The  prospect  of 
our  getting  back  to  Athens  more  than  counter- 
balanced any  interest  in  the  anticipated  leap. 
In  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  we  were  at  the  sta- 
tion, where  carriages  and  snug  little  omnibuses 
with  ^IS-qpo  S/ao/xos  marked  on  them  were  in  wait- 
ing for  the  passengers.  An  English  acquaint- 
ance and  I  preferred  to  walk  home,  and  stopped 
on  the  way  to  take  Trai/cora  (ice-cream),  which  we 
made  the  gargon  understand  by  a  combination 
of  French,  Italian,  English,  and  Greek.  The  ices 
were  delicious,  and  cost  one  hundred  and  ten 
lepta  for  the  two,  about  twenty-five  cents.  When 
we  first  sat  down  to  the  wooden  table  and  asked 
for  ices,  the  waiter  rolled  his  eyes  wildly  and  then 
rushed  off  for  an  interpreter.  The  accomplish- 
ments of  this  personage  did  not  extend  beyond 


Il8  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

a  few  fluent  words  in  the  above-mentioned  lan- 
guages, interspersed  with  copious  parentheses  of 
Greek.  However,  we  finally  came  to  terms  and 
departed  mutually  content.  One  finds  these  re- 
freshments in  general  very  reasonable  at  Athens, 
though  it  is  impossible  to  praise  the  contents  of 
the  dingy  confectionery  shops.  A  quart  bottle 
of  red  Cotes  de  Parnes  which  seems  to  be  the 
wine  preferred  at  our  table  d'hote,  costs  only 
three  francs.  And  this,  I  was  told  by  my  loqua- 
cious newspaper  correspondent,  was  quite  dear  ! 
The  resinated  wine  is  doled  out  at  a  penny  a 
glass,  ten  lepta.  Tobacco  shops  and  wine  shops 
constitute  the  chief  objects  along  the  streets. 
And  yet  drunkenness  is  so  rare  in  Greece  as  to 
be  almost  phenomenal  except  at  Easter.  Every- 
body smokes  a  lean,  hungry  cigarette,  more  full  of 
souvenirs  of  the  kitchen-garden  than  of  Turkish 
tobacco-fields.  It  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to 
say  that  nearly  every  other  house  is  a  cafe.  Could 
the  tabernce  of  antiquity  have  been  so  numerous  ? 
We  know  that  these  tabernce  were  crowded  about 
the  ancient  agora,  and  that  they  were  places  of 
such  disrepute  that,  though  in  extreme  cases  am- 
bassadors were  sometimes  lodged  in  them,  there 
is  a  famous  anecdote  current  about  Demosthenes, 
who  was  observed  in  one  of  them  by  the  lynx-eyed 
Diogenes.  Demosthenes  shrank  back  ashamed. 
"  The   more  you  shrink   back,"  said   Diogenes, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  I19 

"  the  more  you  will  be  in  the  tavern."  Aris- 
tophanes smells  of  the  pot-house,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  many  a  scene  from  his  comedies  was 
composed  (mentally,  at  least)  in  just  such  dun- 
geons as  I  look  down  into  every  day  as  I  pass. 
The  same  is  said  of  Miiller,  the  genial  caricaturist 
of  Munich.  How  many  inns  have  been  the  outs 
of  immortal  things ! 

The  new  quarter  of  Athens  is  really  beautiful. 
I  went  into  it  this  morning.  If  the  city  extends 
and  is  beautified  in  a  way  like  this,  in  fifty  years 
it  will  be  one  of  the  finest  capitals  in  Europe.  I 
was  quite  amazed  at  the  revelation.  Hitherto 
the  elegiac  sentiment  had  prevailed,  and  like 
the  Volney  of  "  Les  Ruines  "  I  had  been  among 
the  ruins,  —  on  the  Acropolis,  or  at  the  Olympi- 
eum,  or  tracing  Pausanias,  —  and  had  not  discov- 
ered this  handsome  quarter,  which  extends  diag- 
onally from  the  palace  on  the  right.  Spacious 
boulevards, are  opening  and  building  up  in  sev- 
eral directions,  lined  by  elegant  houses.  The 
ambassadors  and  elite  of  the  city  affect  this  quar- 
ter. The  university  is  here,  with  its  picturesque 
tropical  garden,  flights  of  broad  marble  steps  and 
statuary  at  either  end.  By  the  side  of  this  is  the 
exquisite  white  marble  structure  (designed  as  a 
higher  university,  chiefly  scientific,  I  am  told), 
of  the  purest  polished  marble,  with  Ionic  fagades 
and  Corinthian  wings  richly  decorated  with  stat- 


120  GREEK   VIGNETTES 

uary.  The  lamp-stands  are  beautiful  specimens 
of  sculptured  work.  It  is  a  gift  of  a  wealthy 
Greek,  who  bequeathed  $1,500,000  for  the  pur- 
pose, $750,000  for  the  building  and  $750,000  for 
the  endowment  fund.  The  whole  structure  is  a 
work  of  infinite  grace,  and  produces  a  fairy-like 
effect  in  this  lustrous  light  air.  Beyond  is  the 
6(p0a\fXLaTp€Lov,  or  hospital  for  eye  diseases  (eye- 
sore), a  building  in  polychrome,  producing  a  sin- 
gularly bizarre  effect  by  the  side  of  its  marble  rival. 
Behind  this  row  of  buildings  is  the  ^vatoypacfiLKou 
Mvoretov  (Physiographical  Museum),  one  wing  in- 
scribed 'Avaro/xctoi/  (Anatomy),  the  other  XrjfjLetov 
(Chemistry).  The  Post-office,  BovXyj  (Parliament 
House),  and  many  very  expensive  residences, 
faced  with  marble  and  with  richly  decorated  cor- 
nices, lie  in  this  quarter.  The  686s  TravcTrto-TTy/xetov 
(University  Street)  is  even  now  one  of  the  richest 
and  most  elegant  streets  I  have  seen  in  Europe. 
And  how  lustrously  everything  stands,  out  in  this 
divine  air.  Its  lustre  of  gold  and  blue  and  white 
cannot  be  conceived  in  paler  climates.  The  tall 
cypresses  that  stretch  along  the  gardens  are  hoar 
with  white  dust.  The  oleander  floats  its  fleet  of 
delicate  blossoms  in  every  corner  ;  the  mimosa 
quivers  and  the  figs  ripen  in  many  a  golden 
angle.  Lycabettus  stands  behind  all  like  a  spe- 
cial guardian  of  the  place.  The  cicada  warbles 
serenely  in  the  plane-trees.     The  hoar  sunlight 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  121 

with  the  gorgeous  magic  of  its  touch  evokes  the 
subtle  essences  of  the  earth  and  volatilizes  them 
into  banks  of  lilied  cloud.  One  is  caught  as  it 
were  in  the  focus  of  some  saint's  glory  —  a  hur- 
ricane of  soundless  gold.  The  cicadae  sing 
regular  cadence,  and  ripple  forth  their  undula- 
tory  song  in  a  rapture  of  light  and  joy.  Clouds, 
wasps,  and  frogs  dance  an  Aristophanic  Ro- 
maika. 

But  the  heat  and  the  hurrying  light  and  the 
white  dust  accelerate  one's  pace,  and  one  is  glad 
to  get  within  the  shadow  of  some  building  where 
there  is  a  nest  of  zephyrs  in  ambush.  I  hastened 
on  and  got  to  the  hotel  to  breakfast.  The  two 
ladies,  my  vis-a-vis^  are,  I  find,  daughters  of  the 
Russian  consul  at  Smyrna,  on  a  visit  to  Athens. 
They  dress  charmingly  —  airy  muslins  and  white 
floating  draperies.  The  supposed  Frenchman 
turns  out  to  be  a  colonel  in  the  Russian  army, 
General  Tchernieff's  chief  of  staff  in  the  late  war. 
He  is  said  to  have  served  with  General  Lee,  and 
in  the  Franco-German  war.  He  is  supposed  to  be 
here  on  some  mission.  The  Greeks  are  always 
supposing  something  about  such  people.  Europe 
is  run  mad  with  diplomacy  the  whole  livelong 
time.  An  official  connected  with  one  of  these 
detestable  little  courts  cannot  turn  his  toes  in 
without  being  suspected  of  a  "mission."  How 
thankful  one  is  that  our  American  foreign  rela- 
tions are  so  plain  and  simple. 


122  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

I  notice  that  the  Athenians  use  quantities  of 
these  light-gray  porous  clay  jugs  for  cooling  water 
and  wine.  They  are  very  graceful  in  shape  and 
very  light.  In  the  market  there  is  one  stall  with 
quite  a  mountain  of  them,  and  occasionally  I  meet 
a  wide-panniered  donkey  laden  with  them.  They 
are  often  seen  placed  in  windows  and  on  balco- 
nies, I  suppose  to  catch  the  air,  that  evaporation 
may  cool  the  contents.  The  public  fountains  are 
at  all  hours,  particularly  the  classic  hour  of  even- 
ing, crowded  with  Greek  girls  and  boys  drawing 
water  and  carrying  it  home  in  earthernware  jugs 
of  various  manufacture.  I  see  huge  amphorae 
shaped  exactly  like  those  seen  in  the  excavations 
at  Pompeii.  One  would  not  have  to  go  far  to 
see  the  libetes,  the  krateres,  and  the  cups  of  Ho- 
mer —  not  in  gold  indeed,  except  some  in  Dr. 
Schliemann's  collection,  but  in  clay  in  the  hands 
of  the  common  people.  Nothing  seems  more  en- 
during than  the  shapes  and  contours  given  to 
pottery.  Whether  a  matter  of  taste  or  conven- 
ience, our  water  jugs  and  pitchers,  crocks  and 
bowls,  have  preserved  all  the  antique  points  of 
utility,  —  the  big  belly,  and  broad  foundation,  the 
earthen  handles  and  narrow  neck, — while  lavish- 
ing all  the  resources  of  silversmith,  potter,  and 
artist  on  their  external  embellishment.  The  iri- 
descent phials  of  the  Egyptians  are  reproduced 
in  the  glass  of   Venice.     The  rich  incrustations 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 23 

of  Sevres  are,  as  it  were,  the  jeweled  exudations 
of  Etruscan  ornamentation.  Our  taste  is  ques- 
tionable when  compared  with  the  Greek.  Those 
carved  surfaces,  red  or  brown  or  black,  with  their 
simple  and  severe  mythologic  and  linear  orna- 
mentation, —  that  dance  and  rhythm  of  airy  fig- 
ures wreathing  the  Greek  vase,  as  in  Keats's  odes 
—  are  very  different  from  the  brilliant  bizarre 
rococo  of  modern  ornament :  the  grotesquerie  of 
Dresden,  the  enamels  of  Wedgewood,  the  plaques 
of  Palissy,  Majolica,  and  Limoges,  with  their  lux- 
uriance of  tropical  design.  One  longs  for  a 
simple  Greek  pitcher  in  all  this  demi-monde  of 
jugs.  There  is  the  same  difference  between  ro- 
coco and  Greek  art  as  between  the  perfumed 
feverishness  of  an  Ode  Funambidiste  and  one 
simple  line  of  Menander.  What  a  world  of 
bright  air  and  health  and  sweetness  opens  from 
the  latter,  what  a  dungeon  of  scented  drawing- 
rooms  and  purple  indolences  yawns  from  the 
former !  In  certain  moments,  then,  give  me  the 
light-kilted  Greek  girl  with  her  plain  jug  at  the 
fountain,  before  all  the  painted  poesies  of  French 
art  ceramique. 

How  delightful  would  it  be,  by  the  way,  to 
have  one  hotel  furnished  from  top  to  bottom 
h  la  Grecque  !  The  tawdry  European  furniture  in 
Athens  is  a  real  eye-sore  —  dilapidated  maple 
and    mahogany,  reps,  French  mirrors,  and    Not- 


124  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

tingham  lace.  Why  does  not  some  enthusiast 
savant  hotellier,  like  the  proprietor  of  the  Drei 
Konige  at  Basle,  make  his  hotel  a  museum  of 
antiquities  and  restore  the  house  architecture 
and  dining  and  sleeping  habits  of  the  ancient 
Greeks  ?  They  are  putting  up  vast  ugly  Euro- 
pean hotels  here  in  excess ;  why  not  a  genuine 
Greek  villa-hotel,  frescoed,  columned,  full  of 
light  and  air  in  sunny  central  spaces,  with  fount- 
ains and  statuary  and  fish-ponds  and  gardens  ? 
There  is  surely  ground  enough  purchasable  for 
such  a  purpose,  and  no  modern  comfort  need 
necessarily  be  eschewed.  The  whole  furnishing 
and  decoration  should  be  antique.  Our  Southern 
houses  are  full  of  delightful  verandas ;  why  do 
not  these  foolish  people,  with  a  climate  identically 
the  same,  introduce  a  similar  style  of  house  build- 
ing? Many  new  houses  are  going  up  in  every 
quarter,  yet  people  build  as  if  they  were  to  stand 
a  siege  —  heavy  brick  or  stone  walls,  windows 
open  to  intolerable  dust  and  glare,  small  porches 
in  front,  put  there  solely  to  show  off  the  beauty 
of  a  group  of  pillars,  and  blinding  white  surfaces 
of  marble  or  stucco  with  absolutely  nothing  to 
relieve  the  eyes. 

There  seems  to  be  a  lack  of  common  sense 
among  the  Greeks,  which  was  as  conspicuous  in 
antiquity  as  it  is  in  modern  times.  This  whole 
plain,  —  think  of  it!  —  the  plain  of  Attica,  might 


GREEK   VIGNETTES,  125 

be  planted  with  trees,  and  the  valley  of  the  Ilissus 
like  the  vale  of  Kephissus  be  made  a  laughter  of 
light  verdure  and  freshness.  A  slight  premium 
set  on  the  planting  of  trees  would  rouse  the 
people  to  cover  their  slopes  with  greenness  and 
thereby  attract  the  rain  and  moisture  for  which 
the  land  suffers  so  much.  The  Khedive  is  plant- 
ing Egypt  with  trees  in  this  way  —  a  far  hotter 
climate.  Napoleon  instituted  the  same  observ- 
ance among  the  French.  Why  could  not  olives 
and  cypresses  and  plane-trees  and  sycamores  be 
made  to  spread  from  Marathon  to  Piraeus,  and 
from  the  pass  of  Daphne  to  the  peak  of  Penteli- 
cus  ?  The  soil  is  light,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  produc- 
tive. Fruit  is  abundant,  though  inferior.  If  such 
a  rock  as  Syra  can  be  made  the  spring  market- 
garden  of  Athens  and  Constantinople,  —  a  rock 
which,  when  I  saw  it,  hardly  had  the  faintest  sus- 
picion of  vegetation  on  it,  —  I  do  not  see  why  this 
plain,  once  celebrated  for  its  fertility,  could  not 
be  self-supporting. 

The  Kephissus,  the  silvery  genius  of  the  Acad- 
emy, flows  through  a  spot  most  beauteous  for 
abundance  and  fruitfulness.  The  eye  rests  on 
its  long  plantations  of  olives  and  vines  with  de- 
light—  one  green  spot  in  this  scene  of  luminous 
sterility.  There  are  charming  drives  through 
them,  and  secluded  cicada-haunted  hiding-places, 
where  the  spirit  of  Plato  seems  to  tranquillize 


126  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

the  air,  and  the  murmur  of  melodious  philosophy 
to  melodize  the  spirit  of  the  scholar.  The  pre- 
cincts of  the  Lyceum,  the  Olympieum,  and  the 
Museum,  sacred  to  Apollo,  Zeus,  and  the  Muses, 
might  be  made  to  put  on  a  like  smile  of  radiant 
vegetation.  Of  course  all  this  would  involve  ex- 
pense, and  there  is  much  to  do. 

One  is  provoked  when  one  sees  a  country  so 
wholly  given  up  to  sunlight  and  idleness.  And 
yet  I  am  told  that  the  Greeks  are  not  idle.  They 
will  work  all  day  if  there  is  work  to  do  and 
money  behind  it,  stealing  a  siesta  in  the  shade 
somewhere  in  the  middle  of  the  day  and  drawing 
their  meagre  pay  at  dark.  This  pay  is  not  over 
two  and  a  half  drachmae  per  diem.  They  live 
on  nothing  —  therefore  like  princes.  Such  pay 
is  wealth  to  the  liver  on  black  olives.  There  is 
an  ancient  poet  who  celebrates  myrtle  berries, 
honey,  the  portals  of  the  Acropolis,  and  dried 
figs  —  all  delicious  fare  !  The  Greek  workmen 
are  a  fine,  stalwart  race,  too.  It  must  be  pure 
air  that  makes  them  so,  for  they  eat  very  little. 
The  slouchiest-looking  fellows  I  have  seen  are 
the  soldiers  and  gendarmes.  The  painful  red 
jackets  of  the  latter  are  a  focus  of  intolerable 
brilliance  in  this  Greek  fire  of  summer.  The 
Albanian  costume,  hot  as  it  appears  to  be,  would 
be  better  than  this  poor  imitation  of  European 
uniforms.     Straw  hats   are   as   plenty  as  black- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  12/ 

berries.  Everybody  tries  to  be  as  cool  as  pos- 
sible, except  the  thick-stockinged  Englishman  in 
his  tweeds  and  cheviots.  To  him  a  tall  hat  is 
as  indispensable  as  his  teeth.  In  England,  any- 
thing but  that  would  be  decidedly  out  of  taste. 
To  the  correspondent  of  the  London  "  Times  "  in 
Paris,  a  soft  felt  hat  goes  together  with  a  blouse, 
Belleville,  and  revolution.  An  Englishman  can 
forgive  anything  except  what  he  deems  a  certain 
indecorum  in  dress.  That  is  unpardonable,  and 
this  unpardonableness  attaches  peculiarly  to  the 
straw  or  felt  hat.     It  is  his  bete  noire. 

—  Thinking  it  would  be  less  trying  to-day  we 
went  out  before  breakfast  and  were  literally  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  light  and  glare.  I  never  knew  the 
infinite  blessedness  of  shade  before.  Everybody 
here  clings  to  it  as  to  a  well-known  indispensable 
friend.  Pedestrians  carefully  seek  it ;  coachmen 
and  their  horses  stand  in  it.  As  soon  as  the  first 
speck  of  afternoon  shade  appears,  the  cafe  people 
begin  to  set  out  chairs  and  tables,  sprinkle  the 
ground  with  water,  and  expect  visitors,  who  soon 
come  out  of  their  nests  in  troops,  and  sit  and  talk 
the  whole  evening  away.  The  light  is  exceedingly 
trying  to  the  eyes.  Get  up  early  and  sit  up  late 
and  sleep  in  the  forenoon  is  the  only  agreeable 
division  of  the  day.  Even  then  there  are  long 
hours  of  insufferable  heat.  In  my  room  there  is 
fortunately  nearly  always  a  pleasant  draught.     It 


128  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

is  absolutely  necessary  to  put  on  a  pair  of  black 
or  dark  blue  glasses  to  look  at  the  Acropolis  with 
comfort,  such  a  tide  of  blinding,  bounding  light 
reflected  and  thrown  from  house  to  house  drives 
in  through  the  green  blinds.  I  am  afraid  the 
week  I  have  promised  myself  there,  studying  an- 
cient topography,  will  have  to  be  given  up. 

How  pleasant  to  lie  in  the  shadow  of  the  Par- 
thenon pillars,  scan  the  environs  with  one's  glass, 
consult  one's  guides  carefully,  and  leave  the  place 
with  some  sort  of  knowledge  of  it  —  an  amateur's 
orientation.  If  there  is  a  group  of  mind  and 
marble  in  the  world  that  should  be  thoroughly 
explored,  it  is  surely  this  famous  hill.  There  is 
no  better  introduction  to  ancient  history.  Per- 
haps the  finest  view  I  have  yet  gotten  of  the  Par- 
thenon was  yesterday  evening  from  the  Greek  cem- 
etery. This  cemetery  lies  beyond  the  Ilissus,  on 
a  slope,  and  the  approach  to  it  is  by  a  long  line  of 
funereal  cypresses.  I  walked  out  there  to  look 
at  the  tombs,  several  of  which  are  magnificent, 
particularly  those  of  Korais,  the  famous  scholar, 
and  Sir  R.  Church,  the  late  commander-in-chief 
of  the  Greek  army.  Of  course  this  cemetery 
lacks  the  sweet  and  holy  beauty  of  the  Protestant 
cemetery  at  Rome  —  that  resting-place  of  famous 
ashes.  There  is  an  air  of  neglect  and  age  about 
it,  a  lack  of  water  to  make  things  green  and  fresh, 
a  carelessness  in   laying  off  borders  and  defin- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 29 

ing  walks.  Beggars  crouched  in  the  streets  among 
the  cypresses  and  called  piteously  for  alms  —  al- 
most the  first  I  have  seen  in  Greece.  Begging 
on  the  way  to  the  grave  !  I  could  not  help  pity- 
ing the  poor  wretches,  while  I  hardened  my  heart 
and  gave  them  nothing,  for  it  is  a  good  principle 
never  if  one  can  help  it  to  give  to  beggars  on  the 
public  highway.  The  Greeks  themselves,  espe- 
cially the  lower  classes,  are  extremely  charitable. 
I  lingered  till  the  last  beams  of  the  sun  were 
streaming  gloriously  through  the  pillars  of  the 
Olympieum,  springing  over  the  classic  Ilissus, 
now  stone-dry,  and  touching  the  hill  where  I  stood 
with  a  gentle  radiance.  The  sun  sank  behind  the 
Acropolis  and  left  a  pool  of  golden  light  there, 
upon  which  the  grandiose  outlines  of  the  Parthe- 
non stood  forth  in  motionless  serenity.  Beams 
and  parallelograms  of  light  lay  painted  behind 
the  looming  pillars  ;  peristyle  and  pronaos  let 
through  the  winnowing  rays  and  threw  them  on 
the  columned  wilderness  behind;  the  colored  light 
shaded  and  whitened  into  the  colorless  empyrean, 
and  gave  to  the  mountains  of  ^gina  and  Pelo- 
ponnesus an  airy  unsubstantiality.  I  had  never 
seen  the  profile  of  the  Parthenon  projected  on 
such  a  surpassing  sky.  It  was  a  sky  of  Rhine- 
wine,  upon  which  these  beauteous  forms  were 
carven  as  upon  some  giant  cameo.  The  Acropo- 
lis, with  all  its  clustering  shadows  and  colors  and 
9 


I30  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

columns,  was  a  heroic  shield  of  Achilles  graven 
on  the  plaque  of  the  sky.  This  backward  glimpse 
compensated  me  for  the  dust  through  which  I  had 
toiled  shoe-deep  to  get  to  the  cemetery. 

In  the  cemetery  I  found  soldiers,  a  Greek  priest 
or  two  in  their  ugly  steeple-crown  hat,  and  a  few 
promenaders.  There  were  lanterns  attached  to 
some  of  the  tombs,  and  on  many  of  them  the  jugs 
I  have  described,  inverted  on  a  stick.  This  place 
of  death,  instead  of  smiling  with  perennial  ver- 
dure, shares  in  the  general  sterility  of  all  this  part 
of  Athens,  —  a  quarter  once  rejoicing  in  unsur- 
passed fertility.  The  bare  hills  lay  burning  in  the 
sun,  with  hardly  a  wisp  of  grass  or  an  aromatic 
weed  growing  on  them.^ 

Coming  back  I  crossed  the  Ilissus  by  a  new 
stone  bridge  below  the  Olympieum,  and  found 
the  bed  of  the  stream  perfectly  dry  except  for  a 
little  drainage  water  here  and  there  near  the  once 
famous  fountain  of  Callirrhoe.  It  is  only  a  few 
yards  wide   and  with  us  would  not  attract  the 

1  The  associations  of  the  place  were  not  rendered  more 
agreeable  by  recollections  of  the  uncanny  expedition  with 
which  the  dead  are  hurried  to  burial  in  Greece  —  an  event 
which  takes  place  twenty-four  hours  after  death.  Bating 
this,  and  the  singular  custom  of  exposing  the  face  of  the 
dead  on  the  way  to  burial,  the  Greeks  treat  their  dead  with 
great  reverence.  Tuckerman  relates  how,  having  an  en- 
gagement with  a  gentleman  on  the  day  following  a  meet- 
ing, he  sallied  forth  to  fulfill  it,  and  met  —  his  corpse  I 


GREEK   VIGNETTES,  131 

slightest  notice.  Yet  what  inexhaustible  interest 
centres  about  it  for  the  scholar.  A  few  miles  of 
intermittent  water  refreshes  half  the  domain  of 
Greek  poetry ;  the  Kephissus  and  the  sea  mean- 
der through  the  rest.  The  microscopic  scale  of 
distances  and  magnitudes  here  is  a  source  of 
never-ceasing  surprise.  One  may  have  had  one's 
Smith  and  Leake  and  Wordsworth  at  one's  fin- 
gers' ends  long  before  arriving  in  Attica,  and  may 
have  known  every  measurement  in  the  tiny  com- 
monwealth ;  still,  on  the  spot,  in  the  face  of  the 
gigantic  achievements  of  these  pygmies,  one  is 
lost  in  wonderment  when  one  actually  sees  the 
territorial  insignificance  of  their  empire. 

Seeing  a  great  number  of  people  walking  down 
a  sort  of  wide  boulevard  toward  the  Ilissus,  I  fol- 
lowed and  soon  found  myself  in  a  sort  of  Athen- 
ian Champs  Elysees.  K-^ttos  twi^  ^apinxiv^  KtJttos 
Ttov  'IXt(7(rt3a)v  Mov(r(ov,  K-^ttos  twv  avrpovrinv  vvfJL- 
(t>(lv  stood  written  over  three  gardens,  in  which  a 
multitude  of  people  sat  eating  and  drinking.  It  was 
refreshing  to  see  these  beautifully  wooded  spaces 
in  the  centre  of  so  much  desolation.  A  band 
was  playing  in  the  Garden  of  the  Muses  of  the 
Ilissus,  but  it  was  sadly  out  of  tune.  Dissonant 
cries  from  the  waiters  rose  on  every  side  ;  a  bell 
was  jingled ;  the  cracked  band  broke  forth  into 
its  wildest  discord  at  intervals,  and  the  people 
seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  holiday  hilarity.     The 


132  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

waiters  in  the  cafes,  I  may  remark  incidentally, 
are  singularly  careless  in  their  dress.  They  go 
about  dirty,  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  often  smoking 
cigarettes  or  cigars,  with  a  smudgy  apron  and 
perhaps  slipshod  slippers  on.  I  have  noticed 
this  even  at  the  best  cafes  along  Ermes  and 
Eolus  streets.  There  is  no  style  about  either 
the  cafes  or  their  attendants.  The  table  ware  is 
invariably  dirty ;  neat  tables  and  chairs  are  per- 
fectly unknown  except  at  the  at  'A^^mi,  the  Belle 
Grece,  and  one  or  two  other  places  ;  coffee  is 
generally  served  in  small,  dingy  cups,  with  a  glass 
of  dirty-looking  water,  on  a  pewter  or  ill-plated 
waiter ;  ice-water  is  doled  out  in  niggardly  doses 
in  case  you  call  for  Traywra,  and  in  the  hotels  only 
at  table  d'hote  ;  in  short,  the  Greeks,  though  they 
live  in  the  streets  except  in  siesta  hours,  know 
nothing  of  even  ordinary  Parisian  or  English 
comfort. 

One  would  think  that  a  hot  climate  would  sug- 
gest a  hundred  devices  and  ameliorations  by 
which  to  make  life  tolerable  :  floors  carpeted 
with  matting,  window-awnings,  verandas,  cool- 
ing drinks,  suburban  or  sea-side  resorts,  planting 
of  trees  everywhere,  production  of  superior  fruit, 
light  and  wholesome  food,  inexpensive  baths  and 
bagnios,  —  in  a  word,  the  most  ordinary  necessa- 
ries of  summer  life.  As  it  is,  hot  carpets  in  sum- 
mer,   heavy  furniture,   awningless  windows  and 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 33 

verandaless  houses,  drinks  that  heat  up  an  al- 
ready exasperated  body,  a  single  poor  little 
promenade  at  Phalerum,  few  trees,  poor  fruit, 
food  rank  with  oil  and  condiments,  and  the  ne- 
cessity to  go  miles  for  a  bath  unless  one  lives 
at  a  first-class  hotel,  —  such  is  the  picture  of 
Athens  in  summer.  What  it  may  be  in  winter 
I  do  not  know.  Then  the  cold  is,  according  to 
all  accounts,  equally  uncomfortable.  Roots  of 
olive-trees  and  scrapings  of  vineyards  keep  the 
pinched  and  peevish  sojourner  thawed — not  to 
be  euphemistic  —  at  an  enormous  expense.  The 
mountains  around  are  sprinkled  with  snow,  and 
the  poor  Greeks  go  lantern-jawed  all  the  winter 
long,  owing  to  their  ignorance  of  the  simplest 
household  contrivances.  So  in  these  Armida 
gardens  were  the  rudest  arrangements  for  com- 
fort. I  sat  in  the  Garden  of  the  Graces  (!)  and 
called  —  not  for  ambrosia  but  for  a  lemonade, 
which  was  brought  by  a  slovenly  fellow  in  shirt- 
sleeves. The  whole  thing  was  unclean  —  a  scum 
on  the  lemonade,  dirt  in  and  on  the  glass,  a 
pewter  spoon,  and  an  untidy  tray.  And  this  is 
one  of  the  chief  resorts  in  Athens  ! 

At  half  past  eight  there  was  a  play  in  Greek 
at  the  Apollo  Theatre  (©car/oov  6  'AttoAXwi/)  in 
the  same  cafe-chantant  garden.  This  I  enjoyed 
very  much.  The  acting  was  good.  I  heard  for 
the  first   time  the  Greek   clearly  and   elegantly 


134  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

pronounced.  There  was  a  throng  present ;  the 
evening  was  beautiful,  and  we  sat  until  twelve 
o'clock  following  the  trials  and  triumphs  of  two 
lovers,  sat  under  the  stars,  the  night  breathlessly 
lovely,  the  fragrance  of  oleanders  breathing  every- 
where, the  bravos  and  laughter  of  the  Athenians 
audible  every  few  moments,  and  all  about  an  in- 
definable pathos  of  passionate  recollections.  A 
modern  comedy  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus  !  But 
is  not  this  Greek  life  an  eternal  comedy?  Was 
it  not  a  centuries-long  comedy  in  antiquity  ?  Is 
anything  more  to  be  expected  from  these  sunny 
people  ?  When  I  left,  late  as  it  was,  there  was 
still  a  third  piece,  more  or  less  lurid,  to  be  acted. 
The  Athenians  do  not  seem  content  with  a  little, 
they  must  have  a  long  draught  of  pleasure.  I 
heard  the  crowd  returning  about  half-past  one. 
In  the  intervals  there  was  a  little  discordant  third- 
rate  music.  This  evening  they  have  "  Trovatore  " 
in  Italian  at  Phalerum. 

What  tiny  sheets  these  Athenian  newspapers 
are!  Two  columns  of  the  "  Tribune  "  would  fill 
some  of  them  entirely.  They  sell  for  almost 
nothing,  a  penny  or  ha'penny,  and  are  written 
with  a  greater  or  less  spice  of  pedantry.  The 
dative  and  genitive  cases,  which  the  popular  dia- 
lect regularly  ignores,  reappear  in  them  with 
classic  precision  ;  the  vanishing  norhinative  takes 
the  place  of  the  more  popular  accusative  as  sub- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 35 

ject ;  the  n  in  the  accusative  singular  of  masculine 
and  feminine  nouns,  which  is  dropped  by  the 
people,  studiously  reappears  ;  and  the  iota  which 
the  people  add  in  the  accusative  plural  to  certain 
nouns  is  carefully  expunged.  Thus  people  are 
getting  accustomed  to  a  classic  standard ;  the 
ancient  Greek,  as  the  old  English  with  Tennyson 
and  Morris,  is  the  great  source  of  neologisms,  and 
antique  phrases  are  gradually,  almost  stealthily, 
reintroduced  from  the  pages  of  the  poets  and 
philosophers. 

—  We  set  out  on  an  objectless  walk  this  morn- 
ing, and  found  ourselves  after  a  while  on  one  of 
the  numerous  dusty  roads  that  lead  into  the  olive 
grove,  that  famous  bit  of  Athenian  antiquity ;  we 
wandered  on  and  on  until  we  got  quite  into  the 
country,  and  found  ourselves  alone  in  this  solitary 
forest.  The  day  is  delightful,  —  cloudy,  with  a 
fresh  northeast  breeze  \  no  dust.  Yesterday  on 
the  Acropolis  I  felt  the  singular  propriety  of  that 
marble  group  which  so  much  struck  Pausanias 
—  Earth  asking  sho7vers  of  Zeus.  It  is  as  if  the 
breath  of  a  furnace-blast  had  blown  over  this 
country  and  burnt  up  everything.  Dust  blows 
sky-high,  into  one's  third  story  windows,  over  the 
house-tops  and  church  steeples,  permeating  and 
penetrating  everything  with  a  fine  white  powder. 
All  the  vegetation  is  silver-hued  with  it  \  it  ca- 
reers wildly  along  the  streets  in  great  clouds,  and 


136  GREEK   VIGNETTES, 

blinds  and  suffocates  everybody.  Imagine,  there- 
fore, how  delightful  to  be  out  under  these  breezy 
olives,  with  the  fragrance  of  a  thousand  aromatic 
shrubs  and  flowers  in  the  air,  threats  of  refresh- 
ing rain  in  the  distant  horizon,  and  innumerable 
cicadse  filling  the  woods  with  their  song.  The 
shadows  of  the  olives  are  getting  longer  over  the 
road,  and  the  afternoon  is  coming  on.  The  cica- 
dae  hum  drowsily  —  their  dream  of  summer  light 
is  short ;  donkeys  are  braying  and  dogs  barking 
afar  off  ;  the  scarlet  blossoms  of  the  pomegranate 
wave  gently  from  out  the  bright  green  leaves  ; 
fields  full  of  low  graperies  scatter  their  scents  of 
promised  and  ripening  fruits  ;  peasants  and  coun- 
try people  lie  asleep  in  the  shade  ;  the  wind 
makes  wavy  and  trembling  melody  among  the 
trees.  It  is  a  Greek  scene  full  of  Greek  sugges- 
tions. Not  far  off  is  Colonos,  the  birth-place  of 
Sophokles  and  the  scene  of  CEdipus'  death  ;  little 
Greek  chapels  nestle  here  and  there  among  the 
figs  and  cypresses  ;  the  long  white  roads  meander 
like  a  line  of  light  through  the  olive  solitudes  and 
glooms ;  a  carriage  drives  lazily  by  at  intervals, 
or  a  curious  contadino  saunters  along,  eying  me 
and  my  book.  What  immense  and  strangely  in- 
dividualized creatures  these  olive-trees  are  !  The 
trunks  of  many  of  them  are  positively  huge.  But 
then  they  are  seldom  more  than  eight  or  ten 
yards  high,  with  a  large  tuft  of  out-spread  foliage 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 37 

atop  and  on  the  sides.  They  line  the  roads  and 
fill  the  fields  like  an  apple-orchard.  Fences  are 
seldom  to  be  seen. 

This  grove  is  one  of  the  most  genuine  relics 
of  antiquity  about  Athens.  Human  hunger  has 
kept  it  alive  when  all  the  marble  glories  of  Peri- 
kles  and  Phidias  have  perished.  And  the  Ke- 
phissus  ?  It  is  now  perfectly  dry,  —  a  small  chan- 
nel of  mud  and  river  jacks,  bearing  evidences  of 
inundation,  full  of  weeds  and  wild  herbage,  a  fig- 
tree  here  and  there  growing  out  of  its  banks,  — 
hardly  even  what  we  should  call  a  creek.  It  is 
as  tortuous  as  some  of  these  gnarled  olives,  and 
under  no  circumstances  can  be  more  than  a  few 
feet  deep.  Yet  Plato  and  Aristotle,  Socrates  and 
Xenophon,  delighted  to  walk  along  its  banks.  A 
sacred  Olivet  for  the  scholar  is  Plato's  part  of 
this  grove  —  the  'AKaSy/zxta,  still  so  called  by  the 
Greeks.  It  is  full  of  nightingales  in  the  spring. 
Is  it  not  as  if  one  were  not  reading  but  realizing 
the  "  Phaedon  "  ?  No  doubt  these  small  black  ants 
that  cover  the  whole  face  of  the  earth  here 
covered  it  in  Socrates'  time,  and  perhaps  crawled 
over  the  Son  of  Sophroniscus  as  they  are  crawl- 
ing over  me  —  ants  big  and  little,  brown  and  red, 
and  black  and  long-legged.  The  tufted  grass, 
the  donkeys  going  by  laden  with  children  and 
fruit  and  vegetables,  the  rooks  that  hover  in  the 
air  and  caw  lazily  —  all,  no  doubt,  were  the  same. 


138  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

The  quaint  little  dogs,  too,  that  snap  at  you  now 
and  then  cynically — ghost  of  Diogenes,  how  real 
they  are  !  The  whole  place  is  full  of  the  mellow- 
est music  of  associations.  Greece  is  so  inter- 
twined with  one's  earliest  recollections  by  themes, 
versions,  plays,  prize  poems,  paper  work  (as  the 
English  say) ;  boyhood,  that  poetic  antiquity  of 
each  one  of  us  of  elderly  age,  is  associated  more 
or  less  richly  with  all  these.  And  to  find  the 
mythologic  and  historic  names  more  than  real- 
ized in  this  classic  grove  to-day !  It  is  a  dream 
which  I  should  never  have  hoped  to  realize. 

"We  arrived,"  said  Hughes,  describing  the 
Academy,  "  at  the  banks  of  the  Kephissus,  the 
ancient  rival  of  the  Ilissus,  and  its  superior  in 
utility,  flowing  through  the  fertile  plains  which  it 
still  adorns  with  verdure,  fruits,  and  flowers.  A 
scene  more  delightful  can  scarcely  be  conceived 
than  the  gardens  on  its  banks,  which  extend  from 
the  Academy  up  to  the  hills  of  Colonos.  All  the 
images  in  that  exquisite  chorus  of  Sophokles, 
where  he  dilates  with  so  much  rapture  upon  the 
beauties  of  his  native  place,  may  still  be  verified ; 
the  crocus,  the  narcissus,  and  a  thousand  flowers 
still  mingle  their  various  dyes  and  impregnate  the 
atmosphere  with  odors ;  the  descendants  of 
those  ancient  olives  on  which  the  vigilant  eye  of 
Morian  Jupiter  was  fixed  still  spread  out  their 
broad  arms,  and  form  a  shade  impervious  to  the 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 39 

sun.  In  the  opening  of  the  year  the  whole  grove 
is  vocal  with  the  melody  of  nightingales,  and  the 
ground  is  carpeted  with  violets,  those  national 
flowers  of  Athens ;  at  its  close  the  purple  and 
yellow  clusters,  the  glory  of  Bacchus,  hang 
around  the  trellis-work  with  which  the  numerous 
cottages  and  villas  are  adorned.  Oranges,  apri- 
cots, peaches,  and  figs,  especially  the  latter,  are 
produced  here  of  superior  flavor;  and  at  the  time 
I  wandered  through  this  delightful  region,  it  was 
glittering  with  golden  quinces,  weighing  down 
their  branches,  and  beautifully  contrasted  with 
the  deep  scarlet  of  the  pomegranates  which  had 
burst  their  confining  rind ;  nor  can  anything  be 
more  charming  than  the  views  which  present 
themselves  to  the  eye  through  vistas  of  dark 
foliage  :  the  temple-crowned  Acropolis,  the  em- 
purpled summits  of  Hymettus,  Anchesmus,  and 
Pentelicus,  or  the  fine  waving  outlines  of  Cory- 
dalus,  ^galeos,  and  Parnes This  para- 
dise owes  its  chief  beauty  to  the  perennial  fount- 
ains of  the  Kephissus  (QEd.  Col.  685), "over  whose 
innumerable  rills  those  soft  breezes  blow  which, 
according  to  the  ancient  muse  (Eurip.  Med.  835), 
were  wafted  by  the  Cytherean  queen  herself." 

—  Yesterday  all  day  long,  I  was  on  the  Acrop- 
olis, studying  out  the  topography  of  its  temples 
and  monuments.  The  day  was  one  of  the  coolest 
and  pleasantest  I  have  spent  here ;  somewhat  too 


I40  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

windy,  to  be  sure,  but  that  made  no  difference, 
as  there  was  little  dust  up  there.  I  returned  to 
dinner  with  a  far  more  perfect  notion  than  I  ever 
before  had  of  the  plan  of  this  celebrated  place. 
With  my  glass  too  I  discovered  the  circular 
monument  of  Lysikrates,  which  I  had  not  before 
been  able  to  find.  It  is  in  a  labyrinth  of  crooked 
streets.  The  evening  before  I  visited  the  The- 
seum  and  found  the  square  in  front  full  of  new 
recruits  drilling  for  the  army.  What  awkward, 
clumsy  fellows  they  were,  too  !  "Ei/,  Sw !  "Ei/,  Sco ! 
sounded  from  the  drill-sergeant,  who  was  trying 
to  make  them  keep  step  ;  "Ei/,  Sw  !  "Ei/,  Sw  !  echoed 
from  all  sides,  while  the  great  temple  stood  there 
in  the  grand  evening  light,  aghast  at  the  inso- 
lence. An  old  soldier  came  up  to  me  and  said 
something  in  Greek,  which  I  did  not  understand ; 
'AAAa,  said  he,  then  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
turned  on  his  heel.  A  wretched  little  cafe  is 
perched  just  in  front  of  one  of  the  porticoes  of 
the  temple,  and  a  soldier  sat  drinking  at  a  table 
placed  between  the  pillars.  A  rich  golden  tint 
has  mellowed  the  brightness  of  the  Pentelic 
marble,  the  saucy  little  Greek  church  which  had 
perched  itself  in  the  cella  has  been  removed, 
restorations  or  strengthenings  of  the  crumbling 
pillars  have  been  made  at  several  points  ;  the 
whole  seems  to  be  the  object  of  affectionate 
veneration   by  the  modern  Athenians.     But,  as 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  141 

in  Germany,  there  is  hardly  a  ruin  or  a  piece 
of  picturesque  ground  that  is  not  defiled  by  a 
hideous  little  saloon,  as  if  the  moment  one 
arrived  in  the  presence  of  a  beautiful  object,  one 
then  and  there  needed  the  assistance  of  some 
abominable  drink.  It  is  the  same  with  the  Tem- 
ple of  Jupiter  Olympius,  where  even  nectar 
and  ambrosia  would  be  out  of  place,  much  more 
the  cluster  of  foul  little  Kacjfx^eveta  that  one 
actually  finds.  Dozens  of  rude  tables  and  chairs 
are  placed  around,  at  which  people  sit  drinking 
coffee,  smoking  narghileh-pipes,  eating  micro- 
scopic ices,  or  sipping  crassi.  The  latest  phase  of 
Greek  politics  —  as  changeable  as  watered  silk  — 
or  the  legs  of  the  last  ballet  dancer  at  Phalerum 
are  discussed  in  the  shadow  of  these  glorious 
pillars  from  sunset  to  sunset.  One's  breath  is 
taken  away  by  such  incongruities.  And  in  the 
neighboring  garden  theatre  Lady  Jane  Grey 
(Iwavi^a  Vpkv)  is  murdered  in  five  acts  ! 

—  I  write  this  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  Bema, 
—  a  huge  platform  of  rocks  symmetrically  hewn 
so  as  to  resemble  a  pulpit,  with  a  short  rock- 
hewn  staircase  on  each  side,  one  of  ^n^  steps,  the 
other  of  four.  The  Bema  stands  on  or  rises  out 
of  two  platforms,  also  of  rock,  and  has  a  magnif- 
icent facing  toward  the  plain  of  Attica,  the  vale 
of  the  Kephissus,  the  hill  of  the  Nymphs,  the 
Acropolis,  and  the  Areopagus.     Directly  in  front, 


142  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

on  its  own  slight  eminence,  lies  the  Theseum,  a 
rich  mass  of  mellow  marble,  in  this  summer  sun. 
The  buttressed  and  many-walled  crag  of  the 
Acropolis  rises  to  the  right  and  presents  the  mar- 
velous point  d'appui  of  which  the  Attic  orators 
were  so  fond  in  their  speeches,  beautifully  en- 
crusted with  its  templed  coronet  of  Pentelic,  with 
the  slope  before  it  all  covered  with  gigantic  aloes. 
Lycabettus  rises  to  the  north,  and  to  the  south- 
west a  sea  of  purple  lustre  mantles  the  Attic 
plain,  Geronia,  Parnes,  Kithaeron,  and  the  Pass 
of  Daphne.  There  is  no  place  in  this  lovely  land 
whose  associations  are  more  eloquent.  This 
rock  is  imperishable.  It  has  not  suffered  in  the 
earthquakes  and  bombardments  that  have  shat- 
tered the  Parthenon.  The  Athenians,  Pericles 
and  Demosthenes,  saw  from  it,  perhaps,  as  I  see 
now,  the  diagonal  bands  of  light  and  shadow 
which  the  pillars  of  the  Theseum  are  casting  on 
the  cella  of  the  temple,  just  in  those  delicate 
curves  and  undulations  in  which  Greek  art  de- 
lighted. The  Propylaea  lift  their  sumptuous  fa- 
gade  in  full  view,  and  the  dainty  apparition  of 
the  Ionic-scrolled  Temple  of  Nike  Apteros  sur- 
mounts its  masonry  with  a  winged  and  ethereal 
whiteness.  Perhaps  they  even  heard  the  guttural 
caw  of  the  ancestors  of  the  rooks  circling  over 
me,  and  filling  the  place  with  the  superstitious 
awe  with  which  the  Greeks  regarded  the  fabulous 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 43 

venerableness  of  some  of  these  creatures,  or  the 
irreverence  with  which  they  associated  them  with 
their  favorite  oath.  Surely,  however,  this  hill,  all 
girdled  with  august  ministrations  and  habitudes, 
—  the  cavern  of  the  Erinnyes,  of  Apollo  and 
Pan,  the  Grot  of  the  Nymphs,  and  the  seat  of 
the  hoar  and  reverend  court  of  the  Areopagus,  — 
could  not  have  been  given  up  to  the  goats  and 
shepherds  and  ravens  as  it  is  now.  One  can 
almost  fancy  one  hears  that  famous  speech  of 
St.  Paul's,  as  he  stood  here  and  cried,  "Ai^Spe? 
'AOrjvaiOL,  Kara  Travra  w?  S€icndaLiJiove(TT€pov<s  v/xas 
OewpQ),  —  '^  Ye  men  of  Athens,  I  perceive  that  in 
all  things  ye  are  too  superstitious."  The  little 
Piraeus  railway  engines  send  their  scream  up 
here  every  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  and  rudely 
tear  one  out  of  one's  classic  visions.  A  kilted 
goat-herd  is  browsing  a  flock  of  long-horned 
goats  on  this  hill,  so  famed  in  Athenian  politics. 
I  even  saw  him  hook  three  or  four  of  them  in 
the  horns  with  his  crook,  and  deliver  them  over 
to  a  wretch  on  horseback,  who  forthwith  slaugh- 
tered them  and  sent  their  blood  trickling  down 
these  storied  rocks.  The  Bema  and  its  steps, 
like  much  of  the  surrounding  red  marble  rock, 
are  covered  with  patches  of  golden  mould,  or 
lichen,  which  gives  a  vari-colored  look  to  the 
whole.  From  the  summit  of  the  Bema  entrancing 
views  crowd  in  on  every  side.     What  scenes  and 


144  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

associations  unroll  before  one  on  this  memorable 
height.  Athenian  citizenship,  popular  elections, 
the  subtle  and  the  florid  oratory  of  Sicilian  rheto- 
rician or  Attic  sophist,  the  infinite  comedy  of  the 
Attic  law  courts,  the  multitudinous  echoes  of  the 
final  struggle  for  independence,  —  all  are  linked 
and  anchored  to  this  lichened  rock.  Everything 
about  it  is  voluble  and  articulate  with  the  past. 
How  keenly  one  realizes  Holderlin's  verses  :  — 

"  Attika,  die  Riesin,  ist  gefallen ; 
Wo  die  alten  Gotteisoline  ruhn 
Im  Ruin  gestiirzter  Marmorhallen, 
Briitet  ew'ge  Todesstille  nun." 

The  huge  thunder-clouds  of  this  morning  have 
broken  into  pellucid  and  rainless  sunlight.  The 
mountains  —  the  '*  purpureos  colles  florentis  Hy- 
metti  "  —  jut  out  sharply  with  a  jeweled  precision. 
Meandering  roads  curve  along  the  sides  of  Hy- 
mettus  ^  (mad  mountain,  the  peasants  call  it)  and 
Lycabettus  as  plainly  as  if  they  were  a  few  yards 
off.  It  looks  as  if  one  might  step  into  the  gar- 
den that  is  laid  off  to  the  west  of  the  Temple 
of  Theseus.     There  is  a  white  gleam  on  the  tiny 

1  A  curious  etymology :  during  the  Venetian  occupation 
Hymettos  changed  to  Hymetto ;  the  unaccented  syllable 
fell  away,  and  Monte  Matto  remained.  Matto  is  Italian  for 
mad,  Cf.  the  legend  of  Mt.  Pilatiis  in  Switzerland  —  nions 
Fileatus,  capped  mountain,  confused  with  the  mediaeval  leg- 
endary wandering  of  Pilate. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 45 

church  of  Agia  Marina^  below  the  hill  of  the 
Nymphs,  and  I  can  almost  see  the  mass  of 
smooth  worn  rock  where,  following  an  ancient 
tradition,^  women  still  slide  down  as  a  cure  for 
barrenness.  It  is  too  early  for  the  Place  d'Armes, 
to  the  south  of  the  Theseum,  to  fill  up  with  the 
new  muster.  The  temple  is  certainly  a  grand 
bit  of  architecture  in  this  golden  afternoon. 

1  See  Taylor's  Travels  in  Greece, 
10 


III. 

What  a  singular  nest  is  the  Stoa  of  Hadrian  ! 
This  once  magnificent  structure  survives  only  in 
a  few  mutilated  Corinthian  columns,  and  has 
been  converted  into  a  sort  of  rookery  of  roosting 
peddlers.  Its  colonnades  and  temples,  library 
porticoes  and  baths,  its  Propylaeum  and  spots 
of  Orient  sunlight  where  the  fashionable  world 
promenaded  in  the  days  of  the  Phil-Hellene  em- 
peror, are  now  what  the  Germans  call  an  Eulen- 
nest  (an  owl's  nest).  All  the  tinkers  and  tramps 
of  the  Arabian  Nights  seem  to  sit  there  cross- 
legged,  surrounded  by  piles  of  apricots  and  figs, 
pulling  away  at  hookahs,  or  sipping  their  paKt,  or 
chewing  />tao-Ttxa,  or  taking  the  preparation  they 
call  XovKovfjiLa,  It  is  the  den  of  the  Forty  Thieves 
transferred  to  Athens  and  illuminated  by  an 
Athenian  sun.  There  is  no  more  amusing  prom- 
enade in  Athens  than  ^—  if  you  have  a  good  nose 
—  to  walk  through  this  quarter  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  take  in  the  whole  oriental  vivacity  of 
the  scene  :  little  cafes,  with  rows  of  decanters  full 
of  green,  red,  and  white  liquids,  and  the  curious 
little  revolving  machine  which,  driven  by  a  stream 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  I47 

of  water,  is  made  to  strike  two  glasses,  and  thus 
melodiously  attract  the  wayfarer ;  little  cigarette 
shelves  hanging  out  of  windows  hired  for  the 
purpose,  with  their  pair  of  huge  brass  scales,  their 
boxes  of  Ka-Kv6%  or  common  tobacco  and  their 
brands  of  TroAtrtKos  (the  Greek  Havana) ;  the 
water-cooler  sellers  with  their  heaps  of  graceful 
jugs  to  chill  water  by  evaporation  ;  the  groups  of 
donkeys,  with  their  panniers  of  fruit  and  vegeta- 
bles, and  the  huge  brass  scales  pendent  at  the 
side  j  the  rows  of  small  booths  full  of  a  Rag-Fair 
of  articles  —  shoes,  fezes,  "fustanelle,"  rosaries 
made  of  shells,  gay  cloths  and  trinkets,  fish,  flesh, 
fowl,  and  fruit,  all  mixed  in  an  indescribable  pict- 
uresqueness  and  confusion  ;  and  out  of  it  all  the 
minarets  of  a  Turkish  mosque  climbing  heaven- 
ward, with  the  cry  of  the  muezzin,  if  it  be  even- 
ing. It  is  as  if  the  many-colored  dome  of  some 
cathedral  had  been  shattered  into  a  thousand 
pieces,  and  the  many-colored  pieces  had  suddenly 
become  alive  here  !  It  is  a  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  of  the  maddest  color,  filth,  and  noisi- 
ness. 

Newsboys  thread  the  winding  passageways 
and  cry,  *H  naXtvyevecrta  (the  Regeneration),  or 
To  i6vLKov  Uvevfia  (the  Spirit  of  the  Nation), 
at  the  top  of  their  voices.  Donkeys  bray  in  the 
brusquest  manner.  Lively  chatting  goes  on  be- 
tween buyer  and  seller.     Ancient  Turks,  perhaps 


148  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

drowsy  with  opium  or  nothing  to  do,  sit  in  the 
oriental  posture  or  scratch  their  turbaned  heads. 
Groups  of  men  in  the  stately  Albanian  costume, 
with  their  grand  walk  and  graceful  air,  stalk  up 
and  down  with  Eastern  impassibility,  price  an  ar- 
ticle, call  for  a  (^wrta  (brazier  of  coals  for  lighting 
cigarettes)  at  the  cafes,  or  converse  in  the  strange 
patois  of  Greece  about  the  last  conclusions  of  the 
fiovk-Y]  or  House  of  Delegates.  The  Greeks  are 
inexhaustible  politicians,  as  they  were  in  the  days 
of  Alcibiades,  and  they  do  not  willingly  let  an  oc- 
casion go  by  without  a  word  or  two  on  the  future 
of  Greece.  Always  the  future,  the  To  MeXAov, 
never  the  present !  And  when  it  is  not  the  future 
it  is  the  past  —  that  burden  of  dazzling  inherit- 
ance which  oppresses  the  modern  Greeks,  which 
makes  them  arrogant  and  contemptuous  at  efforts 
to  suggest  improvements  to  them,  and  which 
flings  up  their  modern  end  of  the  scale,  by  way  of 
comparison,  into  something  like  the  Clouds  of 
Aristophanes.  An  Albanian  woman  in  scarlet 
fez  and  golden  tassel  may  be  seen  here  and  there, 
going  the  market  rounds  and  haggling  in  the  true 
Ionian  fashion ;  or  another  in  long  petticoat,  with 
embroidered  sleeves  and  skirt,  over  which  is  a 
sort  of  tunic  of  white  woolen,  and  hair  and  neck 
loaded  with  chains  of  coins  strung-  together,  stops 
somewhere  in  the  bazaar,  and  passes  a  few  words 
with   a  fruit  vender  j  or  the  high   boots  of  the 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 49 

Cretan  costume  stalk  in  now  and  then  like  the 
veritable  puss  in  the  fairy  tale,  and  linger  before 
some  quaint  stand  loaded  with  appetizing  mer- 
chandise. Small  boys  hang  around  bareheaded, 
and  eye  the  baskets  of  nuts  and  dainties  that 
the  kilted  peddlers  carry  about  for  sale,  some- 
times venturing  up  with  a  few  lepta,  and  going 
off  triumphant  with  a  handful  of  these  delicacies. 
Wagon  loads  of  perfect  oranges  block  the  road 
at  intervals  —  huge,  luscious  fellows,  yellow  as 
gold  and  sweet  as  sugar,  with  a  flavor  and  an 
aroma  truly  divine  to  the  orange-liker.  Pears 
hang  in  strings  like  sausages,  and  tempt  the  mar- 
ket-woman bent  on  a  cheap  dessert  for  dinner. 
Knots  of  Murillesque  figures  munch  melons  and 
figs  in  a  corner,  or  perhaps  carry  on  that  opera- 
tion which  Dickens  describes  as  the  chief  Sunday 
employment  of  the  Genoese.  A  man  waters  the 
street  with  a  wet  broom,  and  thereby  makes  the 
dust  fly  worse  than  ever.  Platters  of  black  olives 
shine  on  barrel-heads ;  a  brace  of  young  fellows 
are  eating  out  of  a  common  plate  in  a  sort  of 
wilderness  of  tomatoes,  fish,  and  butcher's  meat. 
Mangy  curs  slip  in  and  out,  and  snarl  over  their 
bones  under  the  tables.  St.  Bartholomew's  Day 
is  revived  on  a  small  scale,  but  St.  Bartholomew 
baptized  after  the  Greek  rites. 

Up  the  street  is  the  Tower  of  the  Winds,  but  it 
seems  to  have  transferred  its  Eolian  versatility  to 


150  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

this  spot  dedicated  by  Hadrian  to  Jupiter  Panhel- 
lenius,  but  now  the  Pantheon  of  peddlers.  Not 
many  years  ago  dancing  dervishes  gave  their  per- 
formances here,  as  if  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  his- 
toric incongruity.  Greek  and  Muslim,  hadji  and 
archimandrite,  mosque  and  minaret,  agora  and 
shrine  —  what  a  whirl  of  panoramic  confusion. 
It  is  like  a  journey  in  a  railway  car,  where  fences, 
fields,  sea,  and  sky  blend  in  an  indistinguish- 
able posy  of  dissolving  views.  Dirty  canvases 
are  stretched  from  side  to  side  to  keep  out  the 
cleansing  sun.  Immemorial  fleas  hop  about  in 
the  fetid  twilight.  Those  scavengers  of  the  air, 
the  flies,  hold  high  carnival,  and  tattoo  everything 
with  their  touch.  At  the  end  of  a  dark  avenue  of 
awnings  is  a  burst  of  sunlight  falling  on  the  scar- 
let bellies  of  tomatoes,  and  giving  lustrous  focus 
to  all  these  lines  of  light.  At  the  end  of  another 
the  sunlight  has  fruited  into  globes  of  golden 
oranges,  that  lie  among  their  green  leaves  and 
make  a  glory  in  the  summer  darkness.  Then 
piggins  of  white,  cream-like  butter  catch  the  eye, 
cheeses  in  classic  goatskins,  great  brown  loaves 
of  Attic  bread  (called  i/^w/xt)  on  the  corners,  and 
peasants  roasting  ears  of  corn  in  a  brazier  of 
coals.  It  is  chaffer,  chaffer,  chaffer,  all  day  long. 
Well  does  this  spot  justify  its  antique  celeb- 
rity, for  near  here  was  supposed  to  be  situated  a 
subsidiary  branch  of  the  great  Athenian  Agora, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  151 

that  lay  between  the  Pnyx  and  the  Areopagus 
and  converged  and  focalized  the  life  of  ancient 
Athens.  Something  of  the  same  diseased  instinct 
by  which  churches  spring  up  perpetually  on  one 
another's  sites  is  exemplified  here.  Churches, 
graveyards,  and  market-places  have  an  elective 
affinity  for  the  spots  of  their  ancient  renown. 
The  gods,  the  graves,  and  the  people  will  not 
give  up  sites  once  sacred  to  them,  and  succeed  by 
a  strange  sort  of  primogeniture  to  their  heredi- 
tary possessions.  In  the  guttural  twang  of  this 
market-place  survives  the  silvery  accent  of  Aspa- 
sia.  In  the  fantastic  Orientalism  of  the  costume 
is  a  reflex  of  the  white  and  blue  and  red  of  the 
antique  figures  that  frequented  these  marble  pil- 
lars and  cast  their  painted  shadows  on  the  pave- 
ment. In  the  sharpness  of  these  shrilly  tongues 
is  more  than  one  reminiscence  of  the  orators. 
One  recalls  the  "swarms  of  chattering  poetas- 
ters" called  by  Aristophanes  "colleges  of  swal- 
lows." 

"  Not  tailed  cicada,  jay,  or  nightingale, 
Not  turtle-dove  or  grasshopper  can  match 
Thy  chattering." 

Jebb, 

In  the  wisdom  of  these  terse  proverbs  —  terse 
and  Turkish  and  Athenian  all  in  one  —  is  more 
than  one  color  from  the  palette  of  Theophrastus. 
The  nightingales  that  sang  to  Sophokles  in  that 


152  GREEK   VIGNETTES, 

exquisite  chorus  of  the  CEdipus  are  heard  all 
about  the  Athenian  groves  still.  There  is  per- 
haps an  added  note  of  pathetic  richness  since 
the  grand  old  poet  died,  but  the  Greek  poets  still 
survive  in  their  nightingales.  So  in  this  heap  of 
pictorial  nastiness  there  has  been  a  miraculous 
preservation  of  habits  and  instincts.  The  brown, 
olive-complexioned  lads  and  lasses  have  not  been 
so  Slavonized — pace  Fallmerayer  !  —  that  one 
cannot  distinguish  resemblance  enough  to  the 
mutilated  statuary  through  the  museums  of  Eu- 
rope, nor  is  it  the  resemblance  of  a  dead  man 
across  a  glass  case  to  his  living  self.  Greece 
lives  —  Athenian  loquacity  lives  in  the  fifty  peri- 
odicals of  the  place.  Athenian  litigiousness  lives 
in  the  animation  of  the  courts.  The  pafiem  et 
ludos  live  in  the  agility  and  frequency  with  which 
the  Athenians,  grasshopper-like,  skip  to  the  sea- 
shore and  hang  over  the  opera  of  Phalerum  from 
evening  to  evening.  The  dead  mountains  live  in 
their  honey  and  marble.  The  Lyceum,  the  Cyno- 
sarges,  and  the  Academy  live  in  the  university  and 
the  Varvakion.  Nothing  could  be  more  living 
than  the  air  and  the  sunlight  and  the  olives,  —  not 
even  the  quick-stepping  trot  at  which  the  droschke 
horses  are  made  to  go,  or  the  quick  spasm  of  the 
Greek  speech  —  for  spasm  and  sputter  it  seems 
to  be — in  a  political  difference  at  a  cafe.  The 
novelties  intermixed  with  the  antiquities  of  the  - 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 53 

place  do  not  jar  on  one  so  much  as  at  other 
places ;  as,  for  example,  to  find  "  Godey's  Lady's 
Book  "  on  top  of  the  Pyramids.  The  Athenians 
were  ever  receiving  and  absorbing  something 
new.  Their  fleet,  like  a  myriad  nervous  system, 
was  ever  bringing  them  new  impressions  and 
sensations.  They  had  a  plastic  nature,  like  Alci- 
biades',  infinitely  adaptable  to  all  circumstances, 
whether  they  sang  at  Syracuse  or  fluted  at  Sardis, 
whether  they  dedicated  with  the  radiant  irrever- 
ence of  Aristophanes  the  finger  and  helm  of 
Athene  Promachos,  or  whether  they  sat  under 
the  solemn  splendor  of  the  stars  in  the  awful 
court  of  the  Areopagus.  They  are  the  harle- 
quins of  history. 

What  a  stream  of  embassies  and  expeditions, 
truces  and  wars,  processions  and  festivals,  is  this 
brilliant  Athenian  antiquity.  It  is  a  game  of 
more  than  human  athletes,  and  in  everything  they 
did  there  is  nearly  always,  as  it  were,  the  perfume 
of  some  invisible  ambrosial  presence.  Be  it  a 
song  of  Anacreon  or  a  snatch  of  Sappho,  be  it 
the  defense  of  Salamis  or  the  chisel  of  Praxiteles, 
there  is  an  unapproachable  grace,  an  unreacha- 
bleness  which  we  must  ever  despair  over.  The 
sting  of  such  a  despair  is  just  the  most  exquisite 
stigma  of  art  —  just  the  stimulus  that  has  driven 
the  moderns  to  what  they  may  have  attained  in 
art.     We  see  it  inserted  in  the  thigh  of  the  Re- 


154  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

naissance  and  spurring  on  the  Italians  to  a 
frenzy  of  development,  like  some  Jove-sent  gad- 
fly. We  cannot  look  into  a  studio  or  a  cathedral 
without  seeing  the  fruition  of  the  Greek  spirit 
Here  in  Athens  it  survives  to-day  in  the  great  in- 
tellectual activity  that  prevails,  in  the  curiosity  of 
the  population,  their  eager  thirst  for  knowledge, 
their  numerous  schools  and  rapid  improvement 
in  every  direction. 

There  is  a  keen  love  of  money,  too,  coupled  in 
many  cases  with  extreme  munificence.  The  old 
ardor  of  the  Greeks  cannot  be  put  out  in  a  day 
nor  in  a  century.  With  Macedonia  and  Thessaly 
Cyprus  and  Crete,  the  Greeks  would  rapidly 
rise  in  importance  and  develop  a  real  nationality. 
Now,  of  course,  Greece  is  a  mere  mass  of  rocks 
and  chatter.  Athens  is  off  the  great  lines  of  trade 
and  communication,  but  by  being  made  an  intel- 
lectual centre  is  increasing  far  beyond  any  city  in 
the  kingdom.  Its  university  will  catch  for  it  the 
miraculous  draught  of  fishes  —  will,  one  hopes, 
be  the  great  panhellenizing  principle  of  this 
strange  agglomeration  of  islands,  peninsulas,  and 
main-land.  Twelve  hundred  students  every  year 
in  a  vSmall  nationality  of  one  or  two  millions  will 
carry  forth  enthusiasm  for  the  new  culture  into 
all  the  provinces,  and  justify  the  help  and  inter- 
est of  foreigners.  Whether  the  government  can 
grapple  with  its   endless   economical  difficulties 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 55 

is  a  grave  question.  There  seems  to  be  a  lack  of 
astute  statesmanship  in  this  direction.  But  the 
ability  of  the  Greeks  themselves  to  make  money 
and  to  prosper  is  unquestionable.  They  are  the 
bankers  and  the  money-changers  of  the  East. 
There  even  runs  a  proverb  about  the  Greeks  of 
Athens  on  this  point.  But  an  intelligent  Greek 
told  me  that  the  young  men  of  Athens,  \\ivWoi 
Iv  Tol%  dxvpois  (fleas  in  the  straw,  he  called  them), 
instead  of  patronizing  home  industries  will  run 
to  their  tailors  for  a  French  coat,  and  spend  all 
their  money  in  foreign  riff-raff. 

The  term  "  French  dressing ''  is  sufficiently 
distinctive  here  to  be  put  in  inverted  commas. 
But  Heaven  only  knows  what  the  Greeks  would 
do  if  they  relied  entirely  on  themselves.  A 
glance  into  their  shop  windows  is  almost  comic. 
All  sorts  of  miscellaneous  stuff,  odds  and  ends 
of  ribbon  and  lace,  heaps  of  common  lawns  and 
calicoes,  bundles  of  ordinary  white  umbrellas,  — 
what  seems  like  the  refuse  of  the  Parisian  doufi- 
^//^  on  the  boulevard  Montmartre,  — meet  the  eye 
in  sorrowful  abundance.  Yet  the  men  dress  well, 
and  the  women  of  the  upper  classes  too.  The 
parfum  violet  and  the  modes  of  Paris  flame  here 
and  there  on  gilded  signs  —  signs  unspeakably 
refreshing  to  the  Athenian,  who  hurries  by  the 
little  bits  of  diablerie  called  "  native  "  shops,  and 
finds  relief  in  an  adjacent  cafe.    Cafes  are  unfort- 


156  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

unately  always  adjacent  here.  At  both  elbows, 
in  front  and  behind,  there  is  no  escape  from 
their  fumes  till  you  are  safe  on  the  Acropolis 
or  in  the  olive  groves,  —  any  more  than  there  is 
from  the  grease  and  tomato  sauce  of  the  table 
d'hote.  One  picks  up  the  bill  of  fare  every  day 
in  despair  to  find  "poulets  k  la  sauce  tomates," 
"gigot  d'agneau  auxtomates,"  "filet  de  bceuf  a  la 
sauce  tomates,"  "ane  roti  aux  tomates,"  "  creme 
de  la  creme  ^  la  sauce  tomates  "  staring  one  in 
the  face.     Any  civilized  way  of  cooking  tomatoes 

—  baking,  preserving,  stewing,  or  in  soup  — 
seems  utterly  unknown  to  this  tomato-ridden 
people.  From  daylight  in  the  morning  they 
begin  to  cry  Tas  rco/xaras !  ras  rw/xaras !  in  the 
street  below,  interspersed  with  short  slices  and 
spells  of  *H  riaXti/yei/eo-ta,  an  everlasting  news- 
paper. Greece  would  have  achieved  something 
long  ago  if  it  had  not  been  for  tomato   sauce. 

—  Then  come  beans  and  okra  and  pears  and 
TOLs  Tw/xaras  again.  This  succession  of  shrill  and 
unappetizing  screams  is  anything  but  a  pleasant 
preparation  for  the  inevitable  tomatoes  which 
one  is  sure  to  find  at  dinner.  There  is  an  as- 
cending series  of  sensations  —  a  gustatory  stair- 
case —  from  the  first  cried  tomatoes  up  through 
successive  stages  of  grease  and  sauce  along  about 
midday,  till  the  final  and  crushing  culmination  at 
table   d'hote.      The   market-place   bleeds    toma- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES. 


157 


toes ;  they  are  hawked  at  street  corners  and 
howled  on  the  house-tops,  borne  round  by  asses 
and  bought  by  asses,  weighed  out  by  the  pound, 
gleam  through  the  twilight  and  gather  at  dusk. 
Well,  America  has  given  the  Greeks  tomatoes  and 
female  schools  and  missionaries  j  who  can  say 
we  have  not  done  our  part.  There  's  the  table 
d'hote  bell  now !  Tomatoes,  tomatoes,  toma- 
toes ! 

It  would  take  another  Athenseus  to  chronicle 
all  the  curiosities  of  Greek  cooking.  This  morn- 
ing, descending  gayly  to  our  11  o'clock  break- 
fast I  was  greeted  (breakfast,  mind  you),  as  the 
first  course,  with  a  plateful  of  rice  saturated  with 
grease  and  tomato  sauce.  This  on  a  delicate 
stomach  rendered  almost  morbid  by  long  sleep  ! 
Then  came  a  dish  of  raw  tomatoes,  which  I 
have  myself  introduced  to  the  knowledge  of  our 
head  waiter  —  a  dish  prepared  in  our  favorite 
American  fashion,  and  a  thousand  times  more 
palatable  than  all  their  concoctions  and  confec- 
tions. Then  the  waiter  brought  in  with  an  ar- 
tistic flourish  a  plate  of  indescribable  stuff,  a  sort 
of  sausage  covered  all  over  with  thick  white 
sauce  and  garnished  with  what  tasted  like  boiled 
cucumbers.  Then  —  but  Heaven  only  knows 
what  he  would  have  brought  next !  After  the 
shrimps  with  olives  that  succeeded  the  soup  at 
dinner  yesterday,  one  was  prepared  for  anything. 


158  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

But  to  our  infinite  relief  he  brought  in  a  dish  of 
delicious  apricots,  which  with  the  vin  de  Fames 
somewhat  counteracted  the  propylaea  of  grease 
which  introduced  the  breakfast.  Greek  cook- 
ing is  a  mixture  of  Italian,  Turkish,  Albanian, 
French,  English,  and  native  customs.  The  thick, 
sweet,  unsettled  black  coifee  that  succeeds  every 
meal  —  more  a  confection  than  a  coffee  —  is 
Turkish.  The  mountains  of  maccaroni  dressed 
with  tomato  sauce  and  cheese  are  a  souvenir 
of  Naples.  The  frightful  combinations  of  okra, 
beans,  and  tomatoes  in  which  they  envelop  their 
lamb  and  veal  must  be  purely  and  diabolically 
Greek,  for  I  have  never  seen  anything  similar 
elsewhere.  No  wonder  the  Greeks  are  so  slen- 
der—  mere  silhouettes  of  people.  Such  food 
would  wear  an  Occidental  to  a  knife-blade.  It 
seems,  however,  to  have  had  the  contrary  effect 
on  the  women,  who  at  a  certain  stage  of  their  ex- 
istence resemble  bladders.  They  are  human 
cucumbers  that  have  lain  too  long  in  the  sun 
and  gotten  yellow.  —  Our  dessert  yesterday  was  a 
cold  rice  pudding  spiced  with  nutmeg  and  cin- 
namon and  garnished  with  red  and  green  iced 
cakes.  The  pie-crust,  like  the  German,  is  sweet 
and  heavy.  On  Fridays  and  Sundays  sardines 
seem  to  be  handed  round  as  a  sort  of  salami ; 
sausage  croquettes  take  the  place  of  fish  some- 
times ;  roast  beef  with  salad  of  cucumbers,  beets, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 59 

and  lettuce  varies  the  usual  fowl-ness  of  the 
last  course.  Yesterday  nectarines  and  canta- 
loupe were  added  to  our  constant  figs,  apricots, 
oranges,  and  pears.  There  is  Schweizer  cheese, 
but  only  a  Greek  or  two  affect  it.  Wine  in  this 
climate  is  absolutely  necessary,  not  only  because 
the  water  is  generally  bad  (lemonade  color),  but 
to  help  digest  the  ingenious  horrors  of  a  Greek 
dinner.  Even  the  famous  peTo-Lvdro  Kpaat  —  res- 
inous wine  —  could  be  tolerated  in  these  circum- 
stances. And  yet  some  of  the  Greeks  —  God  help 
them  !  —  seem  to  thrive  on  their  fare.  The  men 
are  singularly  handsome,  while  the  married 
women  seem  to  become  immediately  stout ;  there 
is  a  strength  and  grace  in  the  figures  of  the 
former  that  we  should  expect  from  their  open-air 
life ;  while  some  of  the  latter,  though  without  the 
florid  bloom  of  the  Teutonic  women,  have  yet  a 
glow  under  their  cucumber  complexions  that  be- 
tokens health.  Occasionally  one  meets  with  a 
very  fine  pair  of  eyes  among  them.  Most  women 
who  wear  the  Albanian  fez — whether  from  the 
unbecomingness  of  its  flat  red  folds  and  tassel, 
or  from  the  ungraceful  way  of  dressing  the  hair 

—  are  homely.  Not  unf requently  braids  of  hair 
are  wound  round  the  fez  in  a  very  graceful  way 

—  in  which  case  the  fez  is  a  mere  red  skull-cap, 
often  subdued  in  color  by  a  black  lace  veil. 
Many  women  of  the  lower  classes  wear  our  old- 


l60  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

fashioned  Southern  bandannas,  which  give  them 
a  curiously  mulattesque  look. 

—  Yesterday  evening  after  dinner  I  strolled 
down  the  6S09  'A^uaXtas  by  the  palace  garden,  — 
which  from  four  till  seven  in  the  afternoon  is 
given  up  to  nurses  and  baby  Greek,  —  toward  the 
Olympieum.  Again  and  again  I  have  to  admire 
the  wonderful  aesthetic  and  pictorial  instinct  of 
the  Greeks  in  selecting  their  sites  for  temples. 
Sunium,  ^gina,  Olympia,  Eleusis,  Delphi,  Delos, 
all  emphasize  and  illustrate  this.  Points  just 
where  the  morning  rays  may  play  about  the 
sculptured  pediment,  or  the  western  sun  blaze 
pathetically  on  the  columned  whiteness  of  the 
posticum ;  points  where  the  sea  may  be  seen 
sending  its  sapphire  lance  into  the  land  and  carv- 
ing out  a  lustrous  isle ;  points  where  the  ripple  of 
a  mountain  outline  relieves  the  delicately  curved 
rectilinear  lines  of  a  stylobate,  or  evening-purpled 
pictures  may  be  glimpsed  through  the  pillars 
shining  on  the  far  seas,  —  all  these  they  picked 
out  with  an  infallible  feeling  of  what  was  true 
and  beautiful.  There  could  hardly  be  a  finer 
position  for  this  great  temple  of  Jupiter  Olympius. 
The  beautiful  swell  and  curve  of  the  eminence 
on  which  its  fifteen  surviving  pillars  rise,  —  fifteen 
out  of  the  original  one  hundred  and  twenty-four, 
—  its  gentle  slope  toward  the  Ilissus  and  the 
fountain  of  Callirrhoe,  and  the  angle  at  which 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  l6l  * 

the  Saronic  Gulf  sends  its  gorgeous  blue  laughing 
up  the  Vale  of  Phalerum,  in  full  sight  of  the 
southern  peristyle,  make  one  indeed  envy  the  (jtv- 
Xlttj^s  who  in  the  Dark  Ages  made  his  hermitage 
on  one  of  these  pillars,  and  unwittingly  selected 
a  position  that  a  very  voluptuary  in  landscape 
might  have  coveted.  Then  the  Acropolis  just 
behind,  with  the  Dionysiac  Theatre,  the  Eleusin- 
ium,  the  Odeum  of  Pericles,  and  the  Odeum  of 
Herod  encrusting  its  base.  There  is  almost  a 
justice  in  Hadrian's  erecting  his  arch  and  mak- 
ing it  a  dividing  line  between  the  new  city  he 
built  and  these  antique  glories. 

I  walked  on  and  on,  and  found  companies  of 
soldiers  drilling  to  a  bugle  and  fife  in  the  plateia 
or  square  which  surrounds  the  temple.  The 
coffee-drinkers  were  there  too,  and  the  hookah- 
smokers,  reveling  in  the  incomparable  view  from 
this  spot,  or  lounging  away  the  evening  till  it  was 
time  to  go  to  the  play.  I  went  on  down  by  the 
gardens  of  the  Graces,  Muses,  and  Nymphs,  — 
which  two  latter  fill  the  beautiful  isle  in  the  Ilis- 
sus  once  occupied  by  the  shrine  of  Demeter,  — 
crossed  the  Ilissus  by  a  handsome  stone  bridge 
faced  with  marble,  and  went  over  to  look  at  the 
excavations  of  the  Panathenaic  Stadium.  On 
this  spot  were  revived  a  few  years  ago  the  cele- 
brated Panathenaic  games,  in  honor  of  the  jubilee 
of  Greek  independence.     The  excavations  at  the 


1 62  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

back  were  carried  out  by  order  of  King  George  I. 
a  few  years  ago,  and  laid  bare  the  entire  race- 
course. There  was  the  usual  scabies  of  ignoble 
huts  at  the  entrance,  while  the  marble  which  cov- 
ered the  tiers  of  seats  had  been  converted  into 
lime  by  neighboring  kilns.  How  perfectly  re- 
vealed is  the  site  of  this  great  Derby  Day  of 
Antiquity,  the  Stadium,  —  a  huge  parallelogram 
in  the  hills,  excluded  from  all  views  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  that  might  distract  the  contest- 
ants, except  at  the  entrance,  where  the  Parthenon 
stands  forth  on  its  hill  like  a  glorious  apparition 
and  the  Ilissus  murmurs  and  meanders  between 
the  Stadium  and  the  gardens  and  Aphrodisium  of 
Venus  on  the  other  side.  Few  views  in  Athens 
must  there  have  been  from  which  the  shimmer  of 
sanctuaries  through  the  cypress  and  oleander  was 
excluded  ! 

I  could  not  help  stopping  and  lingering  over 
this  glorious  remnant  of  the  religion  and  munifi- 
cence of  early  Greece.  Such  munificence  —  if 
not  such  religion  —  is  to  this  day  gracefully  char- 
acteristic of  the  Greeks,  and  to  it  modern  Athens 
owes  the  National  Museum  and  the  new  theatre, 
the  observatory,  the  Vivarkeion,  the  Arsakeion, 
and  the  new  Academy.  The  theatre  lay  before 
me,  all  devastated  and  shorn  of  its  glory.  The 
excavations  are  sufficiently  advanced  to  enable 
the  antiquarian  to  reconstruct  its  original  propor- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 63 

tions :  nearly  seven  hundred  feet  (663)  of  white 
marble,  the  Sp6iJLo<s,  the  KajjcTrrrje,  the  /SaXfits  and 
the  StavXos ;  its  slabs  and  drains,  its  mosaic  pave- 
ment and  entablatured  wall,  its  fan-like  radia- 
tions of  semicircular  seats  decorated  with  an  owl 
at  the  end  of  each,  its  corridors,  subterranean 
vaulted  passage,  and  stoa,  its  statuary,  its  slope 
toward  the  classic  Ilissus,  and  its  sitting  room  for 
fifty  thousand  Athenians.  The  semicircular  end 
is  quite  revealed,  and  all  around  is  a  multifarious 
debris  of  broken  columns  and  capitals.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  repeople  it  with  animated  thou- 
sands, or  to  fill  it  with  a  white-tunicked,  sandaled 
throng.  The  bright  blaze  of  multitudinous  mar- 
bles, the  stoa  of  the  judges,  the  stripped  runners 
with  eagerly  outstretched  necks,  the  cries  of  the 
mobile  and  applauding  populace,  all  seem  to 
gleam  and  twinkle  and  echo  along  the  air,  and 
roll  like  a  tide  of  color  and  sound  against  the 
cliffs  of  the  Ilissus.  What  scenes  must  have  been 
these  famous  games  — games  whose  marble  com- 
memoration alone  excites  so  much  admiration. 

Now  in  the  diagonal  distance  stretches  the 
king's  garden  and  the  stuccoed  palace.  Stuc- 
coed fences  and  gardens  are  springing  up  on  the 
site  of  Aphrodite's  temple  ;  small  suburbs  and 
clusters  of  new  houses,  Greek  chapels,  and  Kac^- 
cj^eveta  (of  course !)  are  beginning  to  appear  in 
the  hollow  of  the  hills  and  to  form  the  out-works 


164  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

of  a  denser  peopling  and  building  up  after  a 
while. 

Greek  priests  promenade  up  and  down  the 
classic  race-course  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and 
an  occasional  antiquary  may  be  found  climbing 
and  peering  about,  trying  to  realize  and  recon- 
struct the  strange  scene  which  this  spot  must 
have  presented  in  Lykurgus'  or  Herod's  time. 
Ruins  of  the  marble-covered  seats  may  be  seen 
all  along  the  south  side,  and  broken  slabs  and 
columns  lie  about  as  reminders  of  the  Panathe- 
naic  pomp.  Goatherds,  such  as  they  appear  in  ' 
the  Greek  novelettes  of  Achilles  Tatius  and 
Longus,  drive  their  flocks  about  the  declivities 
and  dream  in  the  midday  sun  under  some  tree 
or  cool  ledge  of  rock.  The  dry  Ilissus  has  a 
cart  track  in  the  centre  of  its  bed,  and  is  as 
empty  as  a  twice  told  tale.  All  along  here  new 
Athens  is  spreading.  ZvBoizokCia  or  beer-gardens 
are  fighting  for  existence  with  the  peeo-tvaro  Kpaa-l 
or  resinated  wine  stands  in  this  sacred  vicinity. 
The  near  slopes  of  Lycabettus  are  gradually 
covering  with  new  dwellings,  shops,  and  inns ; 
Trai/TOTTcoAeta  or  "  notion  "  shops  dot  the  hill-sides 
and  obtrude  their  wares  on  the  gaze.  A  iaxaprja- 
TrAao-Tctov  or  confectionery  presents  its  curious 
store  of  Greek  and  Turkish  sweetmeats  to  the 
passer-by,  but  faintly  recaUing  the  famous  dinner 
in  Petronius.    Perambulating  candy  sellers  march 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 6$ 

Up  and  down  the  locality  and  cry  their  dainties  — 
candied  nuts  and  bonbons,  borne  about  in  trays 
and  baskets  and  dealt  out  in  little  tin  cups.  In 
the  intervals  of  the  play  these  marchands,  as 
no  doubt  in  Aristophanes'  time,  carry  round 
little  baskets  divided  into  four  compartments, 
and  descant  upon  the  deliciousness  of  their  con- 
tents. And  these  are  mingled  with  little  raga- 
muffins who  go  about  crying,  Ta  ySov/cerTa,  Kvpioi ! 
TO.  l3ovK€TTa !  (Bouquets,  gentlemen,  bouquets  !) 
The  flower  girls  at  Athens  are  boys  —  and  dirty 
ones,  too,  like  the  SovXol  or  waiters.  They  give 
you  a  great  bunch  of  flowers  for  an  obolus,  none 
of  them  rare  flowers,  all  bound  in  a  tight  nose- 
gay and  wet  with  Heaven  knows  what.  They 
are  thrown  in  great  quantities  to  the  favorite 
actress  or  ballet-dancer  (xopeuVpa)  of  the  evening 

—  to  actors  as  well. 

After  a  short  inspection  of  the  Stadium  I 
went  on  down  the  Ilissus  and  back  by  the  palace 
front  to  the  Garden  of  the  Nymphs,  where  the 
evening  was  spent  in  listening  to  one  of  Moliere's 
delightful  comedies  in  Greek.  The  acting  was 
admirable.     It  was  Molieresque  in  every  sense 

—  broad,  comic,  spirited,  and  noisy.  The  cos- 
tumes were  poor  and  plain,  the  scenery  dirty, 
the  orchestra  a  few  stammering  fiddles  and  flutes. 
But  in  spite  of  all  these  disadvantages,  counter- 
acted somewhat  by  the  stars  shining  in  brilliantly 


1 66  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

through  the  trees  lender  which  we  sat,  I  have  sel- 
dom enjoyed  a  theatrical  representation  more. 
It  was  an  adaptation,  rather  than  a  translation, 
of  the  "  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme "  (^ kp)^ovTo 
Xo)ptoLT7]^),  and  its  fun  and  frolic  were  rendered 
with  inimitable  humor.  The  audience  resembled 
a  highly  charged  Leyden  jar.  The  least  joke 
would  touch  them  off  into  a  rapturous  sparkle. 
The  songs  were  encored,  and  singers  and  song- 
stresses pelted  with  bouquets.  The  final  song 
which  I  append,  beginning,  '^Epw?,  cpw?,  eh  repi/'a) 
fjLOL^  Kpd^€L,  was  received  with  delight.  The  play 
broke  up  amid  universal  good-humor. 

SONG. 

*'OAot  4y  x^PV' 

*Epcos,  epcoSf  els  rep^cv  jxas  Kpd^eiy 
7}  Kavdra  irphs  Tt6ffiv  KaKei. 
"OffTis  TTivei  TTore  dev  (Trevd^ei, 
Sei/  iparai  cos  K6p7]  SeiX-f] 

Kcpvare,  TraiSia, 
ye/jLara  yva\id  • 
fjL€  Tdiraa  xp^^^'hy 
ftcraivdro  Kpaai 

"E^ca  TirXot,  aocpia  koI  (pi]ix'r] 
(})€v !    fiaphs  6  aura  iK^-qroou. 
Elu  rh  -TTiveiv,  deiy^  inLcrr'fiiJLT},  ' 
eiv  6  epcas,  debs  rcov  fiporuV' 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  167 

One  cannot  but  think  the  modern  Greek  ad- 
mirably adapted  to  low  comedy.  The  dialect  is 
full  of  drolleries  and  droll  turns.  What  is  want- 
ing to  the  language  —  and  that  is  a  great  deal  — 
is  made  up  by  an  astounding  flexibility  of  feature. 
M.  Jourdain's  face  was  a  real  study.  It  was  a 
comedy  in  itself.  There  was  not  the  winged  hu- 
mor of  Jefferson,  nor  the  least  gleam  of  pathos 
(which  the  play  did  not  call  for),  but  just  the 
most  delicious  jingle  of  fun  all  through.  The 
adaptation  was,  of  course,  an  unpardonable  muti- 
lation of  the  great  master's  work,  as  much  so  as  a 
plaster  nose  would  be  on  a  faun  of  Praxiteles ; 
but  the  surge  and  brightness  of  Moliere's  genius 
broke  victoriously  through  it  and  sparkled  more 
brilliantly  than  the  stars  above  us.  There  is  a 
lightness  and  lissomeness  in  the  Greek  constitu- 
tion which  peculiarly  fits  it  for  comedy.  There 
is  a  buoyance  of  animal  spirits,  a  breadth  of  sus- 
ceptibility, an  activeness  of  perception,  that  com- 
bine the  best  qualities  of  the  rose,  the  shamrock, 
and  the  thistle  —  the  Keltic,  Gallic,  and  English 
genius  —  in  them.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  think 
of  the  Greeks  as  serious.  They  laugh  at  tragedy, 
and  seem  struck  irresistibly  with  the  comic  side 
of  it. 

How  different  was  this  dash  of  Moliere  from 
the  tragedy  of  'H  Aai8t  'Iwai^ny  Fpei)  which  I  wit- 
nessed the  oth^r  evening  at  the  Apollo  Theatre. 


1 68  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

Edward,  VI.  was  represented  by  a  weak-kneed 
gawk  in  green  pantalettes,  with  a  suspiciously  red 
nose  standing  out  in  haut  relief  from  the  rest  of 
his  powdered  face  ;  Lady  Jane  was  played  by  a 
stout,  heavy-headed  blonde,  with  no  more  anima- 
tion than  a  hogshead;  the  Princess  Mary  by  a 
shrill  brunette,  who  delivered  volleys  of  high-keyed 
denunciation  and  had  a  pair  of  crank-like  elbows 
which  she  worked  incessantly.  The  Greek  audi- 
ence fell  into  fits  of  exquisite  laughter  as  scene 
after  scene  of  intolerable  bombast  unrolled  be- 
fore us.  One  really  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  actors  : 
Lady  Jane  looked  as  if  she  had  the  mumps,  Ed- 
ward was  continually  wiping  his  eyes  and  feeling 
in  the  region  of  his  stomach,  and  Mary  swept 
about  like  a  hornet,  stinging  and  slashing  every- 
body. After  three  acts  I  left,  surfeited  with 
Anglo-Greek  tragedy.  And  yet  what  drama  ex- 
cels the  ancient  Greek  in  sweetness,  seriousness, 
and  majesty  ?  It  was  the  intimate  connection  be- 
tween their  religion  and  the  drama,  coupled  with 
the  finest  art  the  world  has  seen,  that  solemnized 
an  ancient  Greek  audience  and  overwhelmed 
it  with  a  feeling  of  reverence.  The  myriad  smile 
of  Aristophanes,  the  finished  comedy  of  Menan- 
der,  whose  divine  "fragments  "  are  almost  equal 
to  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  give  the  more 
human  side  of  this  great  scene  of  intellectual 
wrestling.     We   have  here  the  Greek  spirit  vol- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 69 

atilized  into  a  rare  perfume ;  rare  as  the  aloe- 
blossom  is  rare  —  with  all  its  strangeness.  We 
cannot  sympathize  fully  with  their  comedy  as  we 
can  with  the  legendary  adventures  of  Thor  and 
the  Berserkers  in  the  Eddas,  because  it  is  part 
and  parcel  of  their  peculiar  antique  life  and  our 
plane  is  a  different  one.  We  can  no  more  trans- 
plant ourselves  into  it,  even  through  the  most 
beautiful  translations  of  Browning  or  Frere,  than 
we  can  transplant  this  pure  Greek  air  to  shine 
over  our  mock  Greek  temples  of  the  North. 
There  is  the  difference  which  Sainte-Beuve  no- 
ticed between  ancient  and  modern  portrait  paint- 
ing, the  one  sunny  and  simple,  the  other  wrinkled 
over  with  a  thousand  meanderings  of  painful 
thought.  The  morbid  psychologizing  of  our  day 
is  and  must  be  wholly  unlike  the  bright  health  of 
ancient  Greece.  They  had  their  sicknesses,  their 
To^os  or  pensive  yearning,  but  the  feverish  sad- 
ness of  our  day  was  unknown  except  in  the  golden 
decline  of  Theocritus'  day.  The  passionate  la- 
ments of  Moschus  and  Bion,  the  delicate  and 
dreamy  beauty  of  Meleager,  the  vers  de  societe  of 
the  later  epigrammatists,  all  reveal  the  first  golden 
wing-tip  of  the  butterfly  born  out  of  the  ancient 
sunshine,  scattered  over  with  the  opal  spots  of  a 
newer  life,  tinged  with  a  diviner  tint  of  coming 
morn.  How  exquisitely  do  many  of  these  epi- 
gram-writers sing  their  thanatopsis;  but  it  is  a 


I/O  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

sharp,  shrill  cry,  smothered  as  it  were  in  the  vol- 
umed  melody  of  the  present  existence.  There 
is  no  coarse  luxuriating  in  weakness  and  disease. 
Compare  the  wit  and  wealth  gleaned  from  the 
Greek  graveyards  with  the  funeral  bombast  of  a 
modern  cemetery.  Compare  the  anthology  with 
any  modern  "  wunderhorn."  The  difference  will 
come  out  strongly. 

From  Greek  cooking  to  Greek  comedy !     But 
there  is  after  all  a  natural  connection. 


IV. 

The  antiquities  of  Athens  are  soon  exhausted. 
A  mere  pleasure  -  seeker  would,  therefore,  soon 
abandon  the  place  to  its  flickering  heat,  the 
cicadae,  and  the  asses.  But  there  is  no  place  that 
is  such  a  fountain  of  memories.  True,  the  con- 
trast between  former  glories  and  present  humil- 
iations is  very  great ;  but  the  scholar's  eyes  are 
fortunately  introspective  and  retrospective ;  he 
thinks  not  so  much  of  the  squalid  present  as  of 
the  supreme  past ;  thus  there  is  relief  from  much 
that  would  be  intolerable  in  modern  Athens.  Sir 
Henry  Holland,  who  visited  Athens  forty  years 
ago,  says,  "  Those  who  expect  to  see  in  Athens 
only  the  mere  splendid  and  obvious  testimonies 
of  its  former  state  will  be  agreeably  disappointed. 
The  Parthenon,  the  Temple  of  Theseus,  the  Pro- 
pylaea  are  individually  the  most  striking  objects  ; 
yet  it  may  perhaps  be  added  that  they  have  been 
less  interesting  singly  than  in  their  combined  re- 
lation to  that  wonderful  grouping  of  nature  and 
art  which  gives  its  peculiarity  to  Athens,  and 
renders  the  scenery  of  this  spot  something  which 
is  ever  unique  to  the  eye  and  recollection.  Here, 
if  anywhere,  there  is  a  certain  genius  of  the  place 


172  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

which  unites  and  gives  a  character  and  coloring 
to  the  whole  ;  and  it  is  further  worthy  of  remark 
that  this  genius  loci  is  one  which  strikingly  con- 
nects the  modern  Athens  with  the  city  of  former 
days.  Every  part  of  the  surrounding  landscape 
may  be  recognized  as  harmonious  and  beautiful 
in  itself,  and  at  the  same  time  as  furnishing  those 
features  which  are  consecrated  by  ancient  de- 
scription, by  the  history  of  heroic  actions,  and 
still  more  as  the  scene  of  those  celebrated  schools 
of  philosophy  which  have  transmitted  their  in- 
fluence to  every  succeeding  age.  The  stranger 
who  is  unable  to  appreciate  the  architectural 
beauties  of  the  temples  of  Athens  yet  can  ad- 
mire the  splendid  assemblage  they  form  in  their 
position,  outline,  and  coloring,  can  trace  out  the 
pictures  of  the  poets  in  the  vale  of  Kephissus,  the 
hill  of  Colonos,  and  the  ridge  of  Hymettus,  can 
look  on  one  side  on  the  sea  of  Salamis,  on  the 
other  on  the  heights  of  Phylae.  Nowhere  is  an- 
tiquity so  well  substantiated  as  at  Athens,  or  its 
outline  more  completely  filled  up  to  the  eye  and 
to  the  imagination." 

—  Yesterday  evening,  overwhelmed  by  the  pe- 
culiar depression  produced  by  the  sirocco,  I  set 
forth  on  a  walk  along  the  Kephissia  road,  to  visit 
the  birthplace  of  Socrates  and  Aristides.  As 
usual  the  rarest,  tenderest  evening  sky,  grand 
masses  of  haggard  golden  cloud  behind   Lyca- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  173 

bettus,  the  lovely  bath  of  heathery  rose-color  suf- 
fusing the  slopes  of  Hymettus  and  striking  warm 
and  rich  in  on  the  wooded  cleft  of  the  monastery 
of  Kaesariani  and  its  beautiful  bright  spring ;  the 
lemon  fields  through  which  the  Eridanus  and  Ilis- 
sus  course,  tinged  with  an  indescribable  softness 
of  light  and  shadow  and  looking  for  all  the  world 
like  a  rich  piece  of  golden  brown  sealskin.  My 
walk  led  past  the  monastery  of  Asomator,  on  the 
site  of  the  ancient  gymnasium  of  the  Cynics.  In 
the  distance  outlying  spears  of  Pentelicon,  painted 
voluptuously  by  the  pencil  of  advancing  twilight, 
mauve  and  azure,  with  the  glimmer  of  the  dying 
sun  on  its  naked  limestone  sides  and  the  popu- 
lous village  of  Kephissia  nestling  at  its  feet, 
among  the  grapes  and  olives.  One  might  al- 
most imagine  this  approaching  night  one  of  the 
Nodes  AtticcB  which  Aulus  Gellius  celebrates,  and 
which  he  passed  on  this  very  spot.  Villages  with 
strange  sounding  names  are  perched  about,  — 
Marusi,  Kalavryta,  and  Ampelikopi,  —  and  the 
most  venerable  of  the  Attic  olive-trees  thrive  in 
this  plain. 

A  Turkish  mosque  peeps  out  of  the  foliage  of 
a  plane-tree  in  the  distance.  The  aqueduct  of 
the  Pisistratidae  runs  along  the  hill-side  and  is 
still  in  use  for  conveying  water  from  the  chief 
source  of  the  Kephissus,  which  is  in  this  vicinage. 
Donkeys,  dogs,  and  goats  with  their  blue-stock- 

OF  THE  \ 

UNIVERSITY   I 


174  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

inged  and  red-vested  attendants,  rest  along  the 
road,  grouped  with  that  instinct  of  the  uncon- 
scious picturesque  which  perpetually  strikes  a 
traveler  in  this  memorial  land.  Carriages  full 
of  Greek  7ra7r7ra>,  as  they  call  the  gowned  and 
bearded  priests,  pass  to  and  fro.  A  band  of  the- 
ological students,  also  in  black  gowns  and  low 
brimless  caps,  stands  at  the  gate  of  the  IkkK-y]- 
(TiacTTiKr)  (TxoXr]  (theological  seminary)  and  re- 
spectfully listens  to  the  discourse  of  the  accom- 
panying master.  One  passes  the  TrroixoKo/xctoi/ 
or  poor  house,  with  its  neat  garden,  Byzantine 
chapel,  and  bareheaded  guests  sitting  on  benches 
in  the  open  evening  air.  Several  Zu^oTrwXeta  or 
beer  gardens,  from  which  a  decided  whiif  of  aro- 
matic wine  comes,  are  passed,  as  well  as  many 
new  houses  with  women  peering  through  the  blinds 
—  their  eternal  attitude  in  the  East — or  sitting 
on  the  balconies. 

The  road  rises  and  gives  the  loveliest  glimpses 
of  the  coast  of  Argolis  and  the  Peloponnese  set 
in  a  jaspered  floor  of  blue  sea.  Hymettus  looks 
as  if  one  could  stretch  out  one's  hand  and  touch 
it,  or  gather  its  pink  wealth  of  wild  thyme  with 
which  the"  air  is  loaded.  The  chapel  of  St.  George 
on  Lycabettus  (now  called  Monte  San  Georgio, 
like  so  many  other  Italianized  Greek  mountains) 
is  a  spot  of  vivid  whiteness  on  its  remarkable 
height,  and  catches  the  blaze  of  the  plenteous 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 75 

sun  full  on  its  front.  The  hamlet  of  Sypseli  that 
clings  to  its  side  lies  in  a  mellow  bed  of  radiance 
which  likewise  luminously  accentuates  the  white- 
sailed  feluccas  on  the  Saronic  Gulf,  far  away  to  the 
south.  Everything  has  the  painted  and  poetic 
peace  that  hovers  over  a  Greek  landscape  at 
sunset,  an  indescribable  tranquillity  and  beauty 
springing  from  this  world  of  harmonious  tints 
and  sounds.  The  heat  is  lifted  from  one's  shoul- 
ders like  a  load,  and  there  is  left  the  upblowing 
and  upbreathing  coolness  of  descending  night, 
a  night  that  mellifluously  veils  the  thousand-fold 
pungencies  of  a  Greek  sun  and  sinks  down  upon 
one  with  a  sense  of  most  eloquent  relief.  The 
aching  eyes  may  be  lifted  painlessly  to  these 
cooling  heights  ;  —  the  far  glory  of  the  sea  is  no 
longer  a  Medusa  mask  to  turn  one  to  stone ; 
the  honeyed  hillocks  of  Monte  Matto  are  no 
longer  focuses  of  a  gleaming  burning-glass  ;  the 
Parthenon  pillars  leave  a  sheen  on  the  satin  air, 
like  the  ripple  of  fingers  in  phosphorescent  water  j 
the  deep  groves  of  Academe  become  the  love- 
liest musing  places  for  tired  brain  and  eyes  and 
feet;  one  may  follow  the  horizon  line  with  its 
successive  tessellations  of  inlaid  color,  its  twi- 
light green,  its  hues  of  silvery  asphodel,  its  oc- 
casional great  fans  of  shooting  rays  over  Lau- 
rium ;  the  dust  of  the  street  is  laid  in  the  uni- 
versal truce,  and  the  strengthened  eyes  may  trace 


176  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

out  the  tortuosities  of  the  classic  rivers  as  they 
flow  on  and  on  down  the  plain.  The  indispensa- 
ble umbrella  is  thrown  away  or  left  at  home. 
The  thirst  for  ices  and  ice-water  and  cooling 
drinks  is  allayed,  and  one  may  move  about  with- 
out critical  searchings  after  shady  streets  or 
shadow-throwing  walls.  Nothing  could  be  more 
beautiful  than  these  dewless  Greek  nights.  How 
fast  the  shadows  gathered  as  I  continued  my 
walk  toward  'AAcoTre/cr/  (Ampelikopi),  the  haunt  of 
Socrates'  youth,  and  gathered  the  delightful  wild 
thyme,  still  in  full  blossom,  by  the  way.  I  could 
realize  the  beautiful  effect  of  those  oriental  pict- 
ures of  evening  that  I  have  so  often  admired  — 
the  magnificent  triangle  of  the  Pyramids  just 
touched  in  the  trembling  dusk  by  a  ray  or  two, 
a  fountain  of  Damascus  with  its  romantic  groups, 
a  lagoon  of  Venice  on  which  a  lateen  sail  all 
gold  and  crimson  lies  bewitched.  Delightful 
memories  passed  through  my  mind,  and  I  found 
myself  in  unconscious  harmony  with  the  tranquil- 
lized sweetness  of  the  scene. 

To  walk  in  such  an  air  and  at  such  a  time  and 
in  such  a  scene  was  in  itself  an  inspiration.  Re- 
turning I  came  back  by  the  Garden  of  the  Graces, 
but  did  not  feel  myself  equal  to  the  four-act 
tragedy  of  Lucrezia  Borgia,  in  Greek,  beginning 
at  half -past  eight.  So  I  idled  on  and  sat  down 
among  the  ever-glorious  pillars  of  the  Olympi- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 77 

eum,  which  I  return  to  again  and  again  by  a  sort 
of  fascination,  not  from  their  artistic  merit,  which 
is  not  very  great,  but  from  the  grandeur  of  their 
isolated  soUtude  and  the  indefinable  harmony 
which  exists  between  the  curvilinear  principle  of 
their  construction  and  the  noble  swell  of  the 
ground  on  which  they  stand.  I  am  unable  to 
define  this  subtle  effect.  It  is  like  that  "  charm 
of  married  brows "  which  was  so  delightful  to 
Theocritus  and  the  epigrammatists.  The  empy- 
rean soon  filled  with  its  sparkling  populace,  and 
the  mighty  pillars  lifted  themselves  heavenward 
as  if  themselves  feeling  some  starry  instinct. 
The  block  on  which  I  sat  had  an  inscription  of 
great  age. 

Besides  the  leprous-looking  coffee-houses  that 
have  sprung  up  at  the  feet  of  Olympian  Jove  and 
desecrate  the  place,  the  peregrinating  Greeks 
make  these  splendid  columns  a  sort  of  undress- 
ing-room. It  is  the  same  with  the  tomb  of 
Themistocles,  the  prison  of  Socrates  on  the  Mu- 
seum Hill,  the  excavations  in  the  Kerameikos, 
and  every  accessible  monument  a  little  withdrawn 
from  the  public  gaze.  Travelers  in  Italy  will  re- 
member the  same  practice  of  the  Italians.-^  The 
habit  is  an  heirloom  of  immemorial  antiquity,  and 
goes  hand  in  hand,  I  suppose,  with  the  filth  of 
Martial  and  the  foulness  of  Athenaeus.    The  Cam- 

1  See  Goethe's  Italienische  Reise. 
12 


1/8  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

panile  of  Venice,  and  even  the  roof  of  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Milan,  are  made  hideous  by  these  things. 

There  was  a  new  moon,  and  its  delicate  curve 
hung  just  over  the  monument  of  Philopappus  on 
the  Hill  of  the  Muses.  Hadrian's  Arch  was  dimly- 
visible,  and  the  obscure  quarter  of  the  ancient 
city  was  full  of  lights.  The  plaintive  quiet  of 
the  scene  was  broken  only  occasionally  by  the 
monotonous  cries-  of  the  gargons,  whose  custom 
here,  it  seems,  is  to  call  out  what  you  have  or- 
dered, as  soon  as  you  have  ordered  it,  at  the  top 
of  their  voices  and  in  a  peculiar  nasal  and  disa- 
greeable tone.  But  the  great  open  space  of  the 
temple  was  too  wide  to  render  a  little  contempla- 
tion, even  under  such  circumstances,  unpleasant, 
and  so  I  remained  till  a  tolerably  late  hour. 

The  heat  is  truly  terrific.  Perhaps  one  makes 
a  mistake  in  venturing  to  Greece  in  the  summer, 
for  no  one  can  be  prepared  for  such  a  reception. 
There  is  nearly  always  a  breeze,  too,  and  the 
evenings  are  often  delightful.  But  day  after  day 
of  such  experience  is  enough  to  melt  one's  brain. 
One  feels  positively  sore  at  times.  Add  to  this 
the  continual  puncturing  of  mosquitoes,  and  the 
impossibility  of  going  out  except  early  in  the 
morning  and  after  a  five  o'clock  dinner.  It  is  no 
wonder  one  sees  so  many  people  with  blue-black 
glasses,  linen  clothes,  and  white-cotton  parasols. 
One  might  go  about  in  a  carriage,  at  a  drachma 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 79 

a  ride,  if  there  were  anywhere  to  go,  or  take  a 
horse,  at  eight  drachmae  a  day,  over  the  mount- 
ains to  Eleusis,  Marathon,  or  Delphi.  But  even 
this  would  entail  a  fatigue  and  exposure  danger- 
ous at  this  season,  and  perhaps  attended  by  the 
Greek  fever.  The  marble  monument  at  Colonos, 
erected  to  the  memory  of  the  accomplished  Gre- 
cian, K.  O.  Miiller,  is  warning  enough  for  the  too 
ardent  tourist.  There  have  been  shady,  cloudy 
days  when  I  have  walked  miles  with  impunity, 
and  explored  the  recesses  of  the  iriZv  ^Kttikov  to 
my  heart's  content.  But  this  cannot  be  done 
every  day.  With  the  indigestible  food,  the  ver- 
min at  night,  and  the  sun  by  day,  one's  health  is 
in  serious  jeopardy  by  a  prolonged  summer  resi- 
dence at  Athens.  The  king  has  a  villa  at  Corfu, 
whither  he  betakes  himself  in  the  dog-days.  It 
is  a  delicious  vision  of  verdure  and  freshness, 
called  by  its  royal  owner  'H  'AvaTravo-ts  Mow  (My 
Rest) ;  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  King  George  and 
Queen  Olga,  accustomed  to  the  exquisite  fertility 
of  the  green  Danish  fields,  should  flee  from  the 
sun-scathed  hills  of  Attica  during  the  summer 
months,  and  hide  themselves  here  for  a  brief 
space.  Most  of  the  deputies,  since  the  adjourn- 
ment of  the  ^iivki]^  day  before  yesterday,  have 
gone  to  their  Peloponnesian,  island,  or  main-land 
homes. 

The  streets  and  cafes  are  full  of  war  rumors. 


I  So  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

There  are  schemes  of  finance,  schemes  of  mobili- 
zation, schemes  of  defense,  schemes  of  offense, 
discussed  and  argued  out  at  length  over  the  thim- 
bleful of  Turkish  coffee.  Mr.  Skinner,  the  corre- 
spondent of  the  "  Daily  News,"  tells  me  that  the 
Greeks  are  undoubtedly  going  to  make  a  coup^  — 
where,  when,  and  how,  he  knows  not,  but  he 
thinks  the  time  has  come  and  they  are  in  the 
midst  of  silent  but  busy  preparations.  He  was 
decorated  by  the  king  the  other  day,  and  is  a  very 
entertaining  fellow.  These  warlike  preparations 
are  an  additional  reason  for  not  prolonging  one's 
residence  in  Greece.  Quarantine,  Turkish  block- 
ades, and  possible  bombardment  of  seaport  towns, 
are  other  elements  of  acceleration  to  pilgrim  foot- 
steps. 

The  Greeks  blaze  out  in  street  oratory  some- 
times still.  Yesterday  evening  a  brown-fingered, 
moustachioed  Athenian  harangued  the  crowd  in 
front  of  the  palace  square,  with  copious  gesticu- 
lation. The  only  reminiscence  of  Demosthenes 
was  the  "action,  action,  action,"  in  which  he  in- 
dulged. The  crowd  applauded  the  good  hits  and 
listened  respectfully  to  the  rest.  One  could  not 
help  thinking  of  the  orators  of  old,  and  wonder- 
ing if  their  Greek  was  as  indistinct  as  this  man's. 
The  Olympian  Perikles  in  the  open  air  on  the 
step  of  the  Bema  crept  into  one's  mind,  with  the 
eager  crowd  filling  the  Pnyx  below,  and  the  busy 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  l8l 

scene  of  the  great  Athenian  Agora  just  before 
him,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  awful  and  ven- 
erable heights  and  associations,  with  the  scene 
of  ^schylus'  "  Eumenides  "  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
and  the  height  from  which  ^geus  precipitated 
himself  on  his  right.  In  what  a  robe  of  august 
memories  was  an  ancient  Athenian  py]Tiiip  envel- 
oped ! 

Some  important  excavations  have  been  made 
in  Athens  since  187 1,  in  the  quarter  anciently 
called  Kerameikos,  near  the  church  of  Agia  Tri- 
ada,  at  the  railway  station.  The  neighborhood 
was  in  antiquity  a  very  celebrated  one.  Here 
lay  the  Dipylon,  one  of  the  fourteen  gates  of 
Athens,  leading  on  the  one  hand  to  the  Agora, 
Areopagus,  and  Propylaea,  and  on  the  other  to 
the  sacred  road  to  Eleusis  through  the  olive 
groves  of  the  plain.  Pausanias  tells  us  of  many 
notabilities  buried  beside  this  sacred  road  :  Zeno, 
Perikles,  Thrasyboulos,  Armodios  and  Aristogei- 
ton,  and  others.  Relics  of  the  ancient  wall  have 
been  laid  bare,  and  deep  channels  of  excavation 
run  in  various  directions,  resulting  in  many  in- 
teresting discoveries :  steles  and  slabs  surmounted 
by  fan-like  ornaments,  broken  columns  of  dark 
Eleusinian  marble,  Pentelic  sarcophagi,  square, 
oblong,  or  simple,  with  beautifully  polished  sur- 
faces, lions  in  gray  Hymettian  stone,  huge  earth- 
enware  amphorae  with  the   bottoms  drawn   out 


l82  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

to  a  point  and  recalling  the  origin  of  the  term 
"tumbler,"  inscribed  tablets,  a  square  family 
burying-ground  ornamented  with  sculptured  ani- 
mals at  the  corners,  remains  of  regular  and  po- 
lygonal walls,  and  half  a  dozen  large  and  exqui- 
site bas-reliefs.  The  whole  discovery  was  brought 
about  by  the  unearthing  of  the  monument  of 
Lysanias.  A  great  deal  of  speculation  and  in- 
genuity has  been  lavished  on  the  graceful  monu- 
ment of  Dexileus  discovered  near  this,  represent- 
ing a  knight  slaying  his  opponent.  Monuments 
of  Aristonautus,  Antipater,  and  others  have  been 
found  here  and  removed  to  the  cella  of  the 
Theseum.  Many  of  those  still  remaining  on  the 
ground  have  been  put  in  little  wooden  cages  with 
wire  fronts,  which  renders  it  difficult  to  decipher 
the  inscriptions.  They  are,  however,  very  neces- 
sary from  the  exposed  position  of  the  monuments. 
There  is  no  other  protection  whatever  to  these 
valuable  finds  —  save  a  sleepy  fellow  in  a  wooden 
hut  near  by,  who  pretends  to  be  the  custode  of 
the  graveyard.  There  are  other  fine  reliefs  quite 
open  to  any  mutilator  that  may  come  along.  A 
boy  with  a  nail  or  a  pen-knife  may  chip  off  what 
he  likes.  There  are  several  parting  scenes  of 
great  interest,  slabs  with  numerous  names  in- 
cised on  them,  a  stooping  slave,  th-e  well-known 
group  of  "  The  Two  Sisters,"  a  bull  with  his  legs 
broken  off,  lying  on  his  side,  besides  numerous 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  1 83 

valuable  fragments.  This  whole  district  is  a 
buried  museum.  Further  excavations  will  no 
doubt  turn  inestimable  objects  to  the  light,  and 
reveal  to  us  more  perfectly  the  extent  and  pro- 
portions of  this  graveyard.  At  present  there  is  a 
hopeless  irregularity  in  the  outline  of  the  explor- 
ations, and  they  seem  to  run  in  every  direction. 
A  large  building  striped  yellow  and  red  stands 
right  in  the  centre  of  the  theatre  of  exploration 
—  the  Agia  Triada  itself.-^ 

Lately  I  took  a  guide  and  made  a  pilgrimage 
to  various  museums  and  places  of  interest.  The 
guide  (Miltiades  Vidis)  entertained  me  with  anec- 
dotes of  the  amiable  and  accomplished  Felton, 
whom  he  said  he  accompanied  in  a  three  months' 
excursion  through  the  Morea  and  Rourrielia  in 
1853.  He  spoke  of  Felton's  wonderful  familiar- 
ity with  the  Greek,  and  said  (no  doubt  from  hear- 
say) he  spoke  the  ancient  Greek  to  perfection. 
He  mentioned  Felton's  anxiety  to  purchase  the 
highly  ornamented  sarcophagus  called  the  tomb 
of  Theseus,  and  his  vain  efforts  to  carry  out  his 
purpose.  Our  point  was  the  new  archaeological 
museum    on    the   Patissia  road  —  a  rather  large 

1  See  an  interesting  article  by  Percy  Gardner  on  The 
Greek  Mind  in  the  Presence  of  Death,  in  which  he  has 
largely  utilized  the  inscriptions  found  in  these  excavations. 
It  is  an  interesting  chapter  in  the  culturgeschichte  of  an- 
tiquity. 


184  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

and  ugly  building  of  broken  limestone,  with 
beautiful  steps  and  portico  of  Pentelic  marble. 
The  yard  was  strewn  with  spoils  of  various  ex- 
cavations —  sculptured  sarcophagi  (among  them 
one  fine  one  representing  the  myth  of  Bac- 
chus), steles,  capitals,  inscribed  fragments  —  a 
wilderness  of  blue,  white,  and  gray  bits,  all  more 
or  less  mutilated.  Most  of  the  valuable  collec- 
tion of  antiquities  that  used  to  grace  the  cella  of 
the  Theseum,  all  of  the  valuable  ones  except 
the  celebrated  bas-relief  of  "  Aristion,"  have  been 
removed  to  this  new  establishment,  where  abun- 
dant space,  beautiful  light,  and  a  series  of  hand- 
some marble-lined  rooms  enable  them  to  be  seen 
to  advantage.  I  was  particularly  struck  with  a 
fine  Apollo.  Here  are  placed  many  of  the  sculpt- 
ured tombstones  found  in  the  Kerameikos  — 
scenes  of  parting,  cinerary  urns,  torsos  of  men 
and  animals,  almost  indistinguishable  from  age 
and  ruin.  The  fine  figure  found  in  the  vicinity, 
with  Egyptian  head-dress,  is  here  on  a  pedestal, 
as  also  several  archaic  Apollos,  the  double- 
headed  statue  found  in  the  Stadium,  and  a  great 
many  portrait  busts,  which  have  been  mounted 
in  plaster  and  present  a  varied  appearance  of 
grotesque  and  hideous  ruin.  Miltiades  insisted 
on  many  of  them  being  "  professors  of  the  uni- 
versity," perhaps  the  remnants  of  Grote's  pro- 
fessors,  the    noseless  professores  ordinarii  et  ex- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 85 

traordinarii  of  the  Lyceum,  Academy,  and  Cyno- 
sarges.  The  professors  of  the  modern  univer- 
sity all  have  their  noses,  I  beheve.  There  is  an 
ancient  relief  in  red  marble,  supposed  by  some 
to  represent  Diogenes  and  Alexander;  another, 
found  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  museum,  sup- 
posed to  represent  Socrates.  But  the  condition 
of  the  museums  of  Athens,  uncatalogued  as  they 
are,  is  shameful.  It  takes  an  acute  archaeologist 
to  derive  any  pleasure  from  an  inspection  of  their 
contents.  In  not  one  that  I  have  visited  have  I 
found  a  single  description  or  catalogue.  A  visitor 
is  thrown  absolutely  on  his  own  resources,  and  is 
often  left  to  his  own  imagination,  for  the  igno- 
rant soldiers  or  women  who  guard  these  treasures 
know  little  or  nothing  about  them.  He  is  thus 
left  to  wander  among  a  throng  of  perplexing  mar- 
bles, often  involving  the  deepest  questions  of  ar- 
chaeology, with  absolutely  no  help,  except  per- 
haps in  obscure  German  or  Greek  archaeological 
societies'  reports.  And  in  such  weather  nobody 
is  able  to  carry  on  the  excavations  necessary  to 
disinter  these  reports  —  an  achievement  perhaps 
which,  adding  the  tortuosities  and  speculations 
of  the  modern  German  and  Greek  archaeological 
schools,  would  be  equal  to  Dr.  Schliemann's. 
Consequently  one  is  led  around  in  these  hospi- 
tals for  crippled  marbles  like  a  child  in  leading- 
strings,  and  issues  from  the  Pentelic  porch  more 


1 86  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

bewildered  than  when  one  went  in.  There  are  no 
labels,  numbers,  or  descriptions  whatever.  Re- 
cent discoveries  are  therefore  completely  passed 
over,  and  for  the  old  ones  the  visitor  is  remanded 
to  an  antiquated  guide-book.  It  seems  to  me 
that  in  the  boasted  revival  of  Greek  scholarship, 
of  which  one  hears  so  much  among  the  Greeks 
themselves,  interest  enough  should  be  shown  the 
visiting  public  to  issue  catalogues  of  the  antiqui- 
ties scattered  about  the  different  museums  in 
Athens,  got  up  in  some  accessible  and  intelligi- 
ble form.  These  rooms  and  the  yard  in  front  are 
full  ^f  marbles  that  deserve  such  notice,  and  yet 
the  Greeks,  as  Dr.  Mahaffy  says,  are  indignant  at 
the  retention  of  the  Parthenon  and  ^gina  mar- 
bles in  London  and  Munich.  Sir  Charles  Tre- 
velyan  writes  sensitively  on  the  same  subject,  and 
there  is  a  tone  of  sullenness  among  the  Greeks 
at  the  continued  non-restoration.  But,  as  Ma- 
haffy says,  until  the  Greeks  learn  to  take  care  of 
their  precious  monuments  themselves,  and  show 
them  a  proper  regard,  it  is  far  better  for  foreign 
countries  to  retain  possession  of  the  inestimable 
relics  that  they  have  carried  off. 

From  the  museum,  which  is  building  in  very 
beautiful  and  spacious  proportions,  but  is  not  yet 
finished,  we  went  over  to  the  polytechnic  institu- 
tion adjoining,  but  were  only  shown  through  the 
drawing  and  painting  hall.     There  was  nothing 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  187 

in  this  of  special  interest,  merely  a  panorama  of 
arid  watery  landscapes,  figure-pieces,  and  studies 
imitated  from  the  Italian.^  The  university  build- 
ings were  our  next  point  —  the  pride  and  glory  of 
regenerated  Hellas.  The  buildings  cover  two  or 
three  squares.  The  university  building  proper 
has  a  fine  entrance  supported  by  -two  Ionic  pil- 
lars of  white  marble.  In  front  and  to  one  side 
a  charming  garden  has  been  laid  out,  and  was 
bright  with  oleander  blossoms  when  we  visited  it. 
The  leaves,  as  everything  else  in  Athens  at  pres- 
ent, are  overlaid  with  a  crust  of  hoary  dust.  We 
were  shown  the  library,  which,  the  librarian  told 
me,  is  in  a  nascent  state,  is  still  but  partly  ar- 
ranged, and  does  not  contain  much  of  very  great 
value.  There  are,  however,  over  one  hundred 
and  twenty  thousand  volumes,  mostly  contributed 
by  foreign  nations,  and  due  to  the  solicitations 
and  patriotism  of  a  former  librarian.  There  is  a 
pleasant  reading-room  —  where  I  was  delighted 
to  see  a  large  number  of  foreign  and  domestic 
periodicals,  for   the  more  light  from  without  the 

1  Recent  travelers  report  the  almost  non-existence  of  ar- 
tistic talent  among  the  modern  Greeks.  There  is  no  en- 
couragement for  it  at  home,  and  the  one  or  two  Greeks  of 
genius  who  cultivate  art  are  settled  in  Munich  or  other 
European  art  centres,  vi^here  their  gifts  are  appreciated  and 
remunerated.  Even  these  form  no  distinct  school  of  them- 
selves, but  have  been  educated  under  the  predominating 
influence  of  Piloty,  Kaulbach,  and  the  German  school. 


1 88  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

less  darkness  from  within.  The  university  is 
poor,  and  the  library,  I  believe,  has  no  special 
fund  for  buying  new  books.  It  cannot,  therefore, 
compare  with  the  universities  of  Northern  Europe 
in  completeness  of  appointments.  The  librarian 
showed  me  some  valuable  manuscripts,  an  illu- 
minated manuscript  of  St.  John  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  Chinese  and  Egyptian  works,  etc.,  and 
told  me  he  was  himself  engaged  in  an  investiga- 
tion into  the  relations  between  the  ancient  and 
the  modern  Greek  dialects.  He  was  very  cour- 
teous, and  seemed  charmed  to  speak  his  native 
language  (German)  again.  The  library  is  open 
every  day  from  9  till  4,  and  is  free  to  everybody 
—  a  delightful,  cool  spot,  with  a  draught  through 
it,  shelves  of  ancient  vellum,  —  bound  books, 
busts  of  Greek  patriots  and  scholars,  and  an  at- 
mosphere of  serene  scholastic  calm.  The  marble 
face  of  Lord  Byron  (6  A.opSo<;  Bijpoji^)  glimmered 
in  this  shadowy  sanctuary  of  letters,  while  busts 
of  Korais  and  other  literary  or  national  celebri- 
ties stood  in  alcoves  and  watched  over  these 
germs  of  a  new  and  nobler  Hellas.  It  is  through 
letters  that  the  Greeks  will,  if  at  all,  reconquer 
their  lost  supremacy.  I  was  shown  through  the 
natural  history  museum,  where  troops  of  wan- 
dering peasants  and  poor  people,  hat  in  hand, 
were  roaming  and  gazing  with  naive  rapture  at 
the  stuffed  birds  and  animals,  and  the  anatomical 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 89 

lecture-room,  but  the  great  aula  was  closed,  and 
the  Suisse  absent. 

The  University  of  Athens  is  doing  admirable 
work.  There  are  some  distinguished  professors 
lecturing,  the  students  are  numerous  and  ear- 
nest, and  there  is  everywhere  a  generally  diffused 
intelligence.  The  only  thing  to  be  regretted  is 
the  astonishing  number  of  lawyers  and  doctors 
which  it  is  turning  out.  Young  men  come  from 
all  parts  of  Greece  and  Turkey,  even  walk  to  Ath- 
ens ;  then  they  enter  service  as  menials  in  private 
and  public  houses  and  carry  on  their  studies  at 
the  university  simultaneously.  Medicine  and  the 
law  are  peculiarly  attractive  to  them  ;  they  plunge 
into  the  study  of  these  professions  enthusiastic- 
ally, and  one  result  is  a  series  of  perpetual  and 
perpetuated  demagogues  hungry  for  office,  full 
of  loquacious  invective  and  insolence,  bent  on 
turning  out  whatever  ministry  is  in,  and  getting 
themselves  and  their  friends  fed  out  of  the  pub- 
lic crib.  In  a  comparatively  healthy  country,  the 
physicians  starve  ;  and  the  church,  full  of  igno- 
rance, fanaticism,  and  poverty  as  it  is,  offers  no 
career.  There  is  the  never-ceasing  effort  with 
the  Greek  to  climb  higher,  to  better  his  social 
condition,  "  to  be  as  good  as  you  are,  and  a  littel 
better  too  : "  hinc  jus  et  medicina.  The  Greek 
mind  simply  needs  to  be  turned  away  from  the 
absorbing  pursuits  of  commerce  and  politics  into 


190  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

a  literary  channel  to  yield  the  abundant  fruits  of 
culture.  The  Greeks  cannot  go  back  to  the  san- 
dals and  chiton  of  antiquity,  which  would  be  as 
successful  as  the  pseudo-classicism  of  the  first 
empire ;  they  cannot  rehabilitate  and  edit  their 
newspapers  in  the  Greek  of  Thucydides  j  but 
their  natural  quickness  and  shrewdness  may  be 
developed  in  honorable  directions,  their  taste  for 
classical  culture  may  be  enriched  and  deepened, 
and  that  remarkable  imitative  and  assimilative 
instinct  which  they  possess  turned  to  sound  and 
noble  purposes. 

Dr.  Mahaffy's  assertion  that  a  Greek  peasant 
at  first  sight  can  understand  the  language  of  the 
Periklean  Greeks  as  well  as  an  English  peasant 
can  the  language  of  Chaucer  is  surely  exagge- 
rated. Miltiades  Vidis,  who  is  a  dragoman  of 
unusual  intelligence,  possessing  a  considerable 
knowledge  of  several  languages  and  tolerably 
well  informed  in  the  history  of  his  country,  tells 
me  he  cannot  understand  the  ancient  Greek  at 
all.  I  inquired  of  him  on  this  point  particularly, 
and  as  he  is  one  of  a  class  of  active-minded,  to 
some  extent  educated,  persons,  who  make  it  their 
business  to  be  as  thorough  as  possible  in  their 
special  profession  as  guides,  I  am  inclined  to  ac- 
cept his  word  on  this  subject  with  more  satisfac- 
tion than  the  Phil-Hellene  doctor's.  The  lower 
classes,  indeed,  are  said  to  find  the  newspapers 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  I9I 

in  which  the  new-old  Greek  is  printed  full  of 
hard  words,  often  utterly  beyond  their  compre- 
hension. It  is  like  putting  a  child  to  construing 
"  Paradise  Lost."  There  are  the  sounds,  the 
particles,  the  cries  and  catchwords  ;  but  there  is 
also  a  most  formidable  array  of  learned  and  ar- 
chaic terms,  which  to  the  ordinary  Greek  who 
may  be  able  to  read  or  write  are  little  less  than 
jargon.  The  influence  of  the  university,  the 
gymnasia,  and  the  primary  schools  is  fast  tending 
to  cultivate  this  class  up  to  a  comprehension  of 
current  literary  Greek.  But  if  any  one  takes  up 
a  newspaper  casually  —  the  Sroa  (the  Porch),  the 
"fipa  (the  Hour),  or  the  'Ec^T^/xcjOts  (the  Daily  News), 
for  example  —  and  compares  its  careful  use  of 
prepositions,  antique  flections,  and  particles  with 
the  chaotic,  flectionless,  abbreviated  jargon  of  the 
streets  and  coffee-houses,  this  wide  distinction 
even  between  written  and  spoken  7nodern  Greek, 
not  to  speak  of  ancient^  will  come  out  strikingly. 
The  girls  of  the  Arsakeion  are  in  their  senior 
class  put  to  reading  Thucydides  and  the  poets  ; 
but  in  the  same  way  as  our  students  in  their 
school  work  on  Langland,  Chaucer,  and  Wiclif. 
Morris,  Skeat,  Ellis,  Sweet,  as  well  as  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  Anglo-Saxon  grammar,  are  essen- 
tial to  our  full  enjoyment  of  the  masterpieces  of 
Earl^r  English. 

So,  the  ancient  Greek,  as  a  practically  obsolete 


192  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

and  archaic  dialect,  must  be  critically  studied 
and  acquired  before  its  authors  can  be  fully  un- 
derstood. Then,  of  course,  as  the  last  result  of 
an  accomplished  education,  comes  thorough  and 
spontaneous  enjoyment.  The  phraseology  of  the 
newspapers  becomes  transparent  enough  to  one 
thus  cultivated.  A  foreigner  of  classical  educa- 
tion can  read  these  as  he  can  read  the  signs, 
without  much  difficulty,  for  art  and  science  have 
familiarized  him  with  many  special  vocabularies, 
his  classical  reading  recalls  innumerable  expres- 
sions, and  the  slight  gauze  of  strangeness  which 
the  translation  of  the  terms  of  European  diplo- 
macy, politics,  trade,  and  discussion  throws  over 
the  subject  is  soon  dispelled.  In  many  points 
modern  Greek  is  a  far  less  highly  inflected  lan- 
guage than  modern  German,  for  example.  The 
difference  between  its  two  phases  is  much  greater 
than  that  between  Goethe  and  the  Lied  of  the 
Nibelungen.  And  it  is  hardly  agreed  that  a  Ger- 
man peasant  can  readily  master  the  Lied  of  the 
Nibelungen.  One  has  but  to  run  one's  eye 
through  an  ordinary  "  Manuel  de  la  Conversation 
Grec  Moderne  "  to  see  how  the  most  usual  and 
necessary  words  have  a  look  and  a  substance  en- 
tirely foreign  to  the  classic.  Many  classic  words 
no  doubt  survive,  particularly  in  the.  less  visited 
districts,  —  in  Arcadia,  among  the  Tsakoni*,  for 
example ;   even   Homeric   and   Hesiodic    words 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 93 

may  be  found  here  and  there,  like  the  customs  or 
the  implements  of  ancient  times ;  but  it  is  haz- 
ardous to  insist  too  much  on  the  similarity  be- 
tween antiquity  and  the  present.  Take  the  sim- 
plest examples,  the  verbs  to  he  and  to  have,  and 
see  what  changes  they  have  undergone.  Then 
the  important  curiously  abbreviated  negative  with 
the  indicative  (8eV  for  ovhev),  the  formation  of 
compound  tenses  analytically  and  by  strange 
combinations,  the  peculiar  way  of  expressing  let 
with  the  imperative,  the  use  of  6a  with  the  sub- 
junctive and  indicative  to  represent  future  and 
conditional  relations,  the  new  declensions  and 
accentuation,  the  substitution  of  subjunctive  for 
infinitive  in  numerous  complexes,  with  their  vari- 
ations no  less  marked.  There  is  a  strong  resem- 
blance between  modern  and  the.  New  Testament 
Greek,  particularly  the  Gospel  of  St.  John  and 
the  Revelation ;  and  even  the  Septuagint  comes 
in  for  its  share  of  relationship  and  analogies  with 
modern  Greek.  This  fact  is  the  less  striking, 
since  the  language  of  the  Septuagint  version 
seems  to  have  been  markedly  colloquial.^  Per- 
haps when  all  the  Greeks  become  as  highly  edu- 
cated as  the  annual  thousand  or  so  that  attend 
the  university,  there  may  then  be  hopeful  talk 
about  a  "restoration."  As  it  is,  nobody  can  ex- 
pect  peddlers,  barbers,  washerwomen,  and  waiters 
1  See  Geldart,  Relation  of  Modern  to  Anciejtt  Greek. 
13 


194  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

to  discourse  in  the  declensions  and  conjugations 
of  Xenophon.  Modern  Greek  conversation  is 
full  of  the  strangest  solecisms.  "EAa,  eXa,  is  their 
cafe-cry  for  Viens^  vieiis!  The  talk  is  almost  as 
quaint  as  that  of  the  Creoles  of  New  Orleans. 

From  the  university,  by  the  side  of  which  is 
building  ^the  still  unfinished  National  Academy, 
at  the  expense  of  the  munificent  Greek  Baron 
Sinas,  of  Vienna,  the  noble  structure  in  white 
Pentelic  marble  which  I  formerly  noticed,  we  were 
driven  to  the  BovAtJ  ( Voidee  they  pronounce  it) 
or  Parliament  House,  a  plain,  inexpensive  build- 
ing costing  about  a  million  drachmae,  and  striped 
red  and  yellow.  One  cannot  exactly  admire  this 
fashion  of  stripes  and  glowing  color  combina- 
tions, such  as  prevails  often  enough  in  the  East- 
ern churches  and  public  buildings.  The  cit- 
ron-colored Cathedral  of  Athens,  with  its  chess- 
board bands  of  red,  is  too  bizarre  to  make  an 
agreeable  impression.  Ancient  Athens,  with  its 
multitude  and  multiplicity  of  buildings,  porticoes, 
temples,  exchanges,  arches,  colonnades  in  white 
marble,  must  at  different  times  have  presented  an 
appearance  exquisitely  and  painfully  beautiful. 
The  transcendent  whiteness  of  the  light  must 
have  struck  these  polished  surfaces,  and  in  the 
noonday  sun  evoked  an  insufferable  splendor. 
The  Greeks  would  then,  as  they  did,  naturally 
take  refuge  in  color,  in  gilt,  in  star-spangled  soffits, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 95 

blue  triglyphs,  gilded  tympana  to  the  temples, 
the  profuse  pillars  dyed  ochre,  the  labyrinthine 
draperies  tinted  and  toned  into  something  har- 
monious to  the  eye  —  a  refuge  from  the  fierce 
recoil  and  hostility  of  the  sun.  Accordingly  we 
find  remnants  of  color  everywhere  hanging  about 
the  architectural  masterpieces  left  to  us,  and 
time  has  mercifully  thrown  over  the  noble  suites 
of  pillars  the  lovely  golden  tone  which  the  Greeks 
produced  at  first  artificially  in  the  columns  of 
the  Parthenon.  In  their  modern  building  vari- 
ous traditions  are  followed.  Many  private  res- 
idences are  fronted  with  white  marble,  others 
are  in  blue  and  gray  marble  or  with  white  and 
blue  blended ;  some  few  are  in  the  polychro- 
matic style.  The  Boule  is  perhaps  after  all  more 
pleasing  as  it  is,  its  ruddy  tints  blending  har- 
moniously with  the  velvet  air,  though  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  might  prefer  the  cooler  shades.  The  main 
room,  where  the  Boule  assembles,  is  an  amphi- 
theatre with  semicircles  of  seats  for  the  depu- 
ties, a  platform  and  ample  desk-room  for  the 
president,  and  a  bema  or  tribune  for  the  speaker. 
Each  seat  is  furnished  with  a  plain  sliding  desk 
and  writing  materials,  and  there  is  a  line  of 
tables  facing  the  first  row,  for  the  ministers.  The 
ceiling  is  richly  ^nd  rather  gaudily  gilded  and 
painted,  and  is  supported  by  two  enormous  pil- 
lars of  grayish  marble,  which  stand  on  each  side 


196  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

of  the  president's  place,  and  rather  singularly 
interrupt  the  distribution  of  the  space,  for  they 
are  not  in  the  middle,  nor  to  one  side,  but  simply 
spring  up  like  two  gigantic  exclamation  points,  a 
constant  astonishment  to  the  spectator.  All  the 
appointments  —  library,  committee  rooms,  and 
reporters'  gallery  —  are  quite  unpretentious  and 
plain.  The  Boule  is  situated  in  new  Athens,  in 
the  quarter  of  the  clubs,  consulates,  and  ambassa- 
dors. One  marvels  at  the  number  of  new  houses 
building  in  this  quarter,  in  fact  everywhere  in  the 
city. 

These  naked-legged,  bag-trousered  Nesiote  ma- 
sons seem  to  do  excellent  work,  too.  Their  work 
is  slowly  but,  I  am  told,  capitally  done,  with 
long  siestas  and  resting  spells  on  the  part  of  the 
workmen,  no  doubt  with  a  due  regard  to  per- 
sonal comfort  and  the  settling  of  the  foundations  ! 
When  one  reflects  that  the  Parthenon  was  built 
in  ten  and  the  Propylaea  in  five  years,  one  is 
rather  amazed  at  the  slowness  of  Baron  Sinas' 
academy  in  drawing  toward  its  completion.  But 
then  there  were  400,000  slaves  in  Attica  accord- 
ing to  Demetrius  Phalereus'  census.  Magical 
work  can  be  done  under  such  circumstances. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  that  the  new  streets  are 
being  laid  out  on  the  boulevard  system  and 
planted  with  trees.  One  comes  on  public  wells, 
with  marble  headpieces  and  a  carved  dolphin  and 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  1 97 

trident,  everywhere  in  this  quarter  as  in  other 
quarters  of  x\thens.  The  best  water,  however,  — 
and  very  sparkling,  cool,  and  delicious  it  is,  for  a 
wonder,  —  comes  from  Hymettus  and  is  sold  in 
great  barrels  in  the  streets,  at  a  sou  a  glass. 
Such  water  seems  to  be  unknown  to  the  hotels 
and  cafes,  especially  to  the  latter,  where  the 
water  is  detestable.  These  perambulating  water- 
men with  their  great  barrel  on  wheels,  protected 
against  the  sun  by  thick  matting  and  dried 
branches,  and  gayly  decked  with  clusters  of 
daphne  blossoms,  are  a  true  blessing  to  thirsty 
Athens  in  summer.  There  is  not  a  cupful  in 
the  Kephissus  or  the  Ilissus ;  one  sees  their 
dusty  beds  with  the  pebbles  and  mud  swept  into 
tortuous  lines  by  the  fierceness  of  the  winter's 
inundation,  and  the  downward  bending  and  grow- 
ing shrubs  hanging  over,  parched  with  imperish- 
able drouth.  The  sparkling  wealth  of  jeweled 
water  that  is  everywhere  gathered  into  pictur- 
esque fountains  and  made  to  spout  out  of  rocks 
and  Tritons  at  Rome  is  sadly  missed  in  this  cli- 
mate. A  meagre  barrel  or  two  may  be  seen 
rolled  along  the  streets  and  ostensibly  laying  the 
dust,  but  really  making  it  rise  and  curl  like 
smoke  under  the  tired  wheels.  This  sprinkling 
is  done  on  the  principal  thoroughfares  once  or 
twice  a  day,  but  with  a  necessary  and  chagrin- 
ing stinginess.     At   the   hotels,    except  for  the 


198  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

meagre  pittance  of  ice  doled  out  at  table  d'hote, 
the  water  is  blood-warm  and  rarely  clean,  fastidi- 
ous as  the  Greeks  are  said  to  be  about  their  wa- 
ter and  passionate  water-drinkers  as  they  are. 
Even  in  Hesiod's  and  Athenaeus'  time  there  was 
a  Greek  'alf-and-'alf,  five  parts  of  water  to  two  of 
wine,  or  three  of  water  to  one  of  wine ;  showing 
an  early  and  ancient  love  of  water.  There  is 
abundance  of  it,  such  as  it  is,  but  it  rarely  has  a 
fresh  feeling  or  taste,  and  the  Greeks  seem  un- 
aware of  the  great  summer  luxury  of  washing  in 
water  that  has  just  the  daintiest  suspicion  of  a 
sparkle  in  it.  One  sees  innumerable  Kovpaa  or 
barber-shops  along  Eolus  and  Hermes  streets,  so 
that  one  would  think  a  Greek's  chief  business 
was  to  cultivate  the  never-failing  mustache,  and 
get  shaved  and  shampooed  ;  but  I  have  noticed 
only  one  Kovpetov  that  seemed  well  appointed  for 
this  as  for  other  purposes.  We  know  from  many 
classic  passages  what  favorite  lounging-places 
the  perfumers'  and  barbers'  shops  were  in  olden 
times.  —  One  feels  uneasy,  too,  where  one  sees 
people  always  scratching.  Unsavory  suspicions 
obtrude  themselves  on  the  imagination,  aided  by 
uneasy  nights  and  uncomfortable  days.  The 
Mohammedan's  devotion  to  water  makes  us  par- 
don a  thousand  shortcomings  in  hijn.  But  there 
is  something  ludicrously  horrible  in  people  being 
dirty  with  the  sea  singing  in  their  ears  all   the 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  IQQ 

time.  This  of  course  cannot  be  said  of  the  bet- 
ter class  of  Greeks,  for  they  appear  to  be  exter- 
nally neat  enough.  One's  attention  is  called  to 
the  subject  by  the  general  filth  of  the  common 
people,  the  really  abominable  dirtiness  of  the 
gargons  at  the  cafes,  as  a  class,  and  the  throngs 
of  unregenerate  wenches  and  brats  one  sees  sur- 
rounding the  wells  of  an  evening.  I  have  had 
but  one  or  two  clean  glasses  of  water  outside  of 
the  hotel  since  I  have  been  in  Athens.  There 
is  a  general  and  hereditary  smell  of  oil  and  gar- 
lic among  the  common  people,  which  a  frank  use 
of  soap  and  water  would  banish  if  it  were  not  a 
smell  by  no  means  disagreeable  to  the  Greek. 
One  is  irresistibly  reminded  of  Trygaeus'  prayer, 
that  the  market-place  may  be  full  of  good  things 
—  ^'  large  garlic^  early  cucumbers,  apples,  pome- 
granates." One  must  say,  however,  in  general, 
for  the  Greeks  that  they  are  cleaner  than  the 
Italians.  A  peep  into  an  Italian  trattoria  is 
more  than  sufficient  for  an  Anglo-Saxon.  Light 
a  candle  suddenly  after  dark  in  an  Italian  cocina, 
and  one  will  witness  the  scampering  of  innumer- 
able insects. 

Mediaeval  Athens  is  to  the  last  degree  uninvit- 
ing. A  few  dilapidated  churches  are  all  that  re- 
mains. There  is  what  is  called  the  Old  Cathedral, 
built  of  massive  blocks  of  white  marble,  some  of 
which  are  said  to  have  been  taken  from  pagan 


200  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

temples.  The  style  is  Byzantine,  and  the  church 
contains,  besides  some  curious  carvings,  the  em- 
balmed remains  of  the  Patriarch  Gregorius,  mur- 
dered by  the  Turks  in  the  war  of  independence. 
The  churches  of  St.  Theodore,  St.  Nicodemus, 
and  Kapnicarea  are  all  more  or  less  insignificant. 
The  Greeks  have  an  uncanny  habit  of  exhibiting 
the  remains  of  certain  saints  on  great  spiritual 
and  anniversary  occasions.  In  Athens  it  is  the 
remains  of  the  martyred  Gregory;  in  Corfu  the 
desiccated  skeleton  of  St.  Spiridon  (after  whom 
about  half  the  boys  in  the  island  are  named). 
What  is  singular  in  the  latter  case  is  that  the 
skeleton  of  the  saint  has  for  ages  been  the  means 
of  enriching  the  great  Corfiote  family  to  which  it 
belongs,  and  by  whom  it  is  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation  as  a  money -making 
heirloom.  Ten  dollars  will  procure  a  sight  of  its 
blackened,  emaciated,  and  jewel-laden  toe.  St. 
Spiridon  is  supposed  to  be  a  famous  night  trav- 
eler, goes  on  distant  voyages,  and  returns  with 
abundant  sea-weed  clinging  to  his  skirts,  which 
then  performs  miraculous  cures  on  its  fortunate 
possessors.  One  member  of  this  lucky  family 
must  always  be  a  priest  in  the  church  ;  the  thing 
is  carried  round  in  gorgeous  procession  once  or 
twice  a  year,  and  offerings  are  poured  into  its 
shrine,  which  is  the  coffer-box  of  the  family. 
—  Yesterday  afternoon  Miltiades  called  for  me 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  201 

again  and  we  set  out  on  a  visit  to  the  Varvakion 
(a  museum  -  gymnasium  due  to  private  munifi- 
cence) and  the  Botanic  Garden.  Very  interesting 
is  the  small  collection  of  the  Varvakion,  which 
consists  principally  of  terra-cottas,  antique  jew- 
elry, vases,  gold  leaf  arranged  in  crowns  for  vic- 
tory at  the  games,  glass,  iridescent,  pearl-colored, 
blue  and  green  bottles,  antique  metal  looking- 
glasses,  pottery,  marble  statuettes,  and  a  large 
number  of  miniature  torsos  in  marble.  I  was 
particularly  struck  with  some  elegant  gold  arm- 
lets, bracelets,  and  ear-rings  found  together,  I 
believe,  in  a  tomb  not  far  from  Athens.  The 
armlets  were  set  with  stones  and  the  bracelets 
contained  a  series  of  very  elegantly  wrought  let- 
ters. Small  boxes  of  rare  gold,  silver,  and  bronze 
coins  were  kept  in  glass  cases.  The  drawing  on 
some  of  the  vases  was  spirited  and  masterly,  and 
many  of  them,  though  seamed  with  a  multitude 
of  cracks  and  fractures,  had  been  very  skillfully 
mended.  The  best  thing  in  the  collection  (which 
is  private),  after  the  gold  ornaments,  a  large  vase 
representing  a  funeral  scene,  and  a  few  very 
precious  terra-cottas,  was  a  head  in  relief  found 
in  the  Stadium.  This  head  has  the  most  won- 
derful mirthful  expression.  The  marble  laughs 
and  mantles  with  gayety,  and  the  head  seems 
bent  forward  eagerly,  looking  after  some  mirth- 
exciting  object.    The  head-dress  is  very  peculiar. 


202  GREEK   VIGNETTES. 

I  have  never  seen  a  side  face  that  so  shone  with 
living  smiles.  The  disk  on  which  the  head  and 
face  are  carved  is  much  mutilated,  but  the  feat- 
ures are  fortunately  intact.  The  marble,  from 
its  translucency,  seems  to  be  Parian.  It  is  kept 
under  glass  and  is  highly  polished. 

After  our  visit  to  the  Varvakion,  during  which 
we  were  attended  by  a  little  red-eyed,  bushy- 
headed  gnome  of  a  custode,  who  kept  sniffling 
after  us  as  if  in  deep  grief,  we  turned  our  horses 
toward  the  Botanic  Garden,  on  the  sacred  road  to 
Eleusis.  The  garden  looks  like  a  country  gentle- 
man's orchard  and  flower-garden  together.  We 
saw  nothing  particularly  rare.  Some  fine  pines, 
of  the  variety  from  which  the  resin  is  extracted 
with  which  they  resinate  their  wines,  a  few  splen- 
did silver  poplars,  a  tank  of  gold-fish,  and  long 
sunny  walks  through  straight  beds  filled  with 
scented  and  flowering  shrubs  are  the  chief  at- 
tractions. Gigantic  Indian  figs,  crowded  with 
flowers  and  fruit,  lifted  their  embattled  fronds  in 
the  afternoon  glare,  and  seemed  to  resent  our 
unwelcome  intrusion.  A  few  drowsy  Greeks  lay 
on  the  benches,  or  gossiped  under  the  cypresses. 
The  gold-fish  —  which  strangely  resemble  the  red 
mullet  they  give  us  for  dinner,  broiled  in  oil  — 
hovered  near  the  surface  of  the  heated  water,  and 
appeared,  like  ourselves,  panting  for  coolness. 
Miltiades  had  the  usual  story  of  reckless  English- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  203 

men  (who  no  doubt  transformed  themselves  into 
reckless  Americans  when  required)  bathing  in 
the  gold-fish  tank  one  sunny  day,  while  the  labor- 
ers were  at  their  siesta.  Trumpet  flowers,  sweet 
basil  (that  favorite  of  Keats  and  Krishna),  grape- 
vines, and  sky-blue  bell-flowers  clustered  on  the 
walls,  and  gave  delightful  resting-places  to  the 
glare-wearied  eyes.  The  apricot-trees  had  been 
stripped.  The  inexorable  Miltiades  was  entreated 
not  to  lead  me  up  and  down  all  the  shadeless 
lanes,  and  finally  yielded.  The  subtle  fragrance 
of  the  pines  smelt  like  the  opening  lines  of  The- 
ocritus' first  idyl,  and  recalled  those  graceful 
stone-pines  that  lift  up  their  bosky  crowns  in  the 
tremor  and  fire  of  the  gold  Italian  hills.  I  pulled 
a  sprig  of  sweet  basil  (O  Boccaccio  !),  that  royal 
weed,  as  a  souvenir  of  our  visit,  and  put  it,  with 
other  sentimentalities,  in  a  book.  One  can  go 
nowhere  in  Athens  without  coming  on  pots  of 
sweet  basil,  —  in  the  windows,  in  the  cafe-cor- 
ners, on  the  counters,  and  in  the  gardens.  It  is 
anti-malarial,  and,  like  the  gigantic  sunflowers, 
that  lift  their  solar  blossoms  all  through  the  pel- 
lucid air  of  Greece,  is  purposely  cultivated  to 
purify  the  atmosphere.  The  light  and  the  per- 
fume of  the  place  were  suggestive  of  the  peren- 
nial rhododaphnes  that  warm  the  Greek  hills  in 
spring  with  their  wild,  winsome  spray,  and  make 
a  close  room  morbidly  sweet.     The  most  luscious 


204  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

fragrances  spring  up  out  of  this  light  Attic  soil, 
and  gather  into  starry  blossoms  along  the  way. 
In  the  warm  wet  May  evenings  everything  is  brill- 
iant with  glow-worms.  Now  it  is  beyond  their 
time,  and  the  grapes  are  beginning  to  get  green- 
gold  and  purple-pink,  with  a  dark  spot  on  one 
side  and  a  fruity  smell  of  ripeness  that  magnet- 
izes bees  and  men.  Nectarines  are  coming  in, 
too,  and  the  quinces  gleam  primrose-colored  in 
their  setting  of  green-white  leaves. 

We  summoned  our  ever-siesta-ing  cocher,  and 
then  set  out  on  the  road  home  through  the  olives 
of  the  Academy,  across  the  Kephissus,  and  by 
the  "  white-browed  hill  of  Colonos."  Miltiades 
pointed  out  an  enormous  olive-tree,  which  he  said 
was  twelve  hundred  years  old.  The  olive  is  of 
exceedingly  slow,  almost  imperceptible  growth; 
hence  one  was  able  to  put  more  faith  than  one 
usually  should,  in  such  cases,  in  the  age  of  this 
grand  gnarled  trunk,  with  just  the  slightest  shoot 
of  branches  springing  from  it.  The  olives  are 
gathered  here  in  winter;  in  Corfu  they  are  al- 
lowed to  drop,  and  are  then  gathered ;  in  Zante 
they  are  plucked  from  the  trees.  When  we  rec- 
ollect what  an  important  part  the  olive-tree  plays 
in  the  matrimonial  contract,  —  how  anxiously  the 
bride's  parents  inquire  after  their  number,  qual- 
ity, productiveness,  etc.,  it  is  not  difficult  to  un- 
derstand the  care  taken  of  them,  and  the  tender 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  205 

and  reverential  regard  with  which  they  axe  looked 
upon.  We  drove  along  the  winding  road  for 
some  time,  and  had  the  purplest  and  prettiest 
glimpses  of  Athens  through  the  frost-pale  foliage. 
Hymettus  was  gathering  its  evening  rose-color 
like  a  gauze  over  its  naked  shoulders,  and  the 
white  sides  of  Pentelicus,  where  the  quarries  lay, 
shone  drowsily  in  the  fast-setting  sun.  This 
bright  Greek  air,  with  its  spots  of  feverish  filmy 
color,  transfigures  indescribably  when  the  sun  is 
about  to  take  leave  of  it.  We  passed  along  be- 
side rich  orchards  full  of  pomegranates  and  figs, 
between  hot  mud  walls,  and  in  blinding  flour-like 
dust,  over  the  Kephissus,  and  beside  quaint  sub- 
urban chapels,  into  the  town  again,  to  our  oil 
and  tomato-sauce  table  d'hote.  The  evening  was 
concluded  watching  the  twilight  sea  from  the 
grand  laure  of  the  Olympieum,  and  laughing  at 
the  jokes  of  a  funny  little  comedy  in  Greek  at 
the  Kt^ttos  tcoj/  ^ kvTpovTiiiv  'SvfxcjiCjv  (Garden  of  the 
Nymphs). 


V. 

Homo  est  quod  est :  man  is  what  he  eats.  We 
have  seen  superficially  what  the  Greeks  eat.  This 
is,  however,  by  no  means  what  they  are.  They 
are  this  plus  an  infinity  of  individuality.  In  a 
tour  of  a  few  weeks  or  months  the  most  expert 
traveler  can  see  only  the  physical  aspects,  the 
molecular  mass  (everlastingly  in  motion,  too  !)  of 
this  ingenious  people.  If  "  man  possesses  many 
internal  qualities,  such  as  the  imagination  and  the 
milt,  much  more  the  Greek.  Emerson  called  the 
English  ^'this  inconsolable  nation,"  and  says  an 
Englishman's  hilarity  is  like  an  attack  of  fever. 
What  would  he  have  thought  of  these  feverish 
Greeks,  this  nation  of  fustanellas  and  mustaches, 
politicians  and  polichinelles,  patriots  and  talk- 
ers ?  "Ec^aye  Awtoi/  !  (he  has  eaten  the  lotos  !)  cry 
they  of  a  man  who  has  lost  his  senses.  And 
then  they  attitudinize  in  the  most  picturesque 
manner  and  say  AetAe!  (poor  fellow!)'  Lotos-eat- 
ing is  the  favorite  occupation  of  this  imaginative 
people,  with  its  streak  of  Eastern  richness  and 
its  gravity  of  the  West.  Attack  a  Greek  on  any 
speculative  subject  and  he  is  as  fluent  as  a  pump. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  20/ 

Answers  he  has  at  his  tongue's  end,  though  his 
arguments  are  Hke  the  Valencian  sock  —  open  at 
both  ends.  Mere  fluency  one  sees  in  rivers  and 
Greeks.  ReHgion  ?  They  will  run  over  the  Rag- 
man's Roll  of  saints  and  theologians  from  the 
Golden  Mouth  to  Hagios  Gregorios.  Poetry  ? 
An  endless  torrent  of  mediaeval  Greek  scribblers. 
Philology?  The  never-ending  performances  of 
Korais.  Heroism  ?  Canaris  !  Miaulis !  Karais- 
kakes  !     Karaiskos  ! 

There  is  something  pathetic  in  this  passionate 
worship  of  the  heroes  of  the  independence.  Italy 
is  the  land  of  humanity,  said  Winckelmann. 
Greece  is  the  fairy-land  of  patriots.  How  much 
better  be  an  Albanian  Klepht  than,  according  to 
one,  the  Englishman  who  visits  Mount  ^tna  and 
carries  his  tea-kettle  to  the  top  !  The  beauty  of 
it  all  is  that  Greece  has  so  gracefully  forgotten 
the  rags  and  roguery  of  these  early  athletes,  and 
now  embalms  them  in  lovely  ballads  of  Soutzos. 
It  sees  them  with  a  glamour  in  its  eyes  —  it  for- 
gives and  forgets.  The  long  incubation  of  the 
Turks  has  hatched  out  a  nest  of  scorpions. 
Never  was  such  hatred  as  that  written  in  Greek 
letters  and  gleaming  in  Greek  eyes.  Give  way  to 
the  Greek  for  your  vocabulary  of  hate.  National 
aspects  are  mirrored  in  words,  each  a  tiny  bit 
of  glass  throwing  back  a  thousand-fold  image. 
Singularly  rich  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  of  Caedmon 


208  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

and  Beowulf  in  words  for  *'  man,"  ."  hero," 
"  lord  of  life  and  light,"  "  ship,"  "  journeying ;  " 
rich  in  words  for  "mist,"  "  wraith,"  phenomenal 
weather  aspects,  are  the  Swedish  and  Norwegian ; 
and  how  Homer  exults  in  his  glorious  words  for 
battle-din,  thunder  of  battle,  battle-cries,  car- 
nage, and  brightness  of  battle  !  But  the  idiom 
of  the  Greek  eye  when  a  Turk  is  mentioned  is 
the  unmistakable  idiom  of  hate.  "  lis  s'amusent 
tristement,  selon  la  coutume  de  leur  pays,"  says 
Froissart  of  the  English.  The  Greeks  take  sav- 
age joy  in  denunciation  of  Turks  and  Turkey. 
And  why  should  they  not  ?  The  Turks  have 
punctuated  their  interminable  edicts  with  Greek 
heads.  The  sad  watch-towers  of  Turkish  islands 
have  been  skulls  of  Hellas  whitening  on  poles. 
Their  dead  march  has  been  the  cry  of  ravens  on 
the  battle-fields  of  Thessaly  and  Epirus.  The 
heraldic  bird  of  Mussulmandom  is  the  buzzard. 
What  strange  stories  we  listened  to  in  the  long 
mornings  of  Athenian  summer,  as  our  English 
friend  told  us  his  experience  in  Crete,  and  set 
before  our  eyes  ghastly  rows  of  decapitated  pris- 
oners !  The  glowing  sunshine  looked  bloodshot, 
and  there  seemed  to  be  an  effusion  of  blood  in 
the  air.  Over  Turkey  there  hovers  a  sort  of  dia- 
bolic arch  of  crime,  set  there  as  an  eternal  prom- 
ise and  menace.  What  can  be  thought  of  a  peo- 
ple that  has  no  heels  to  its  shoes,  indeed  ?     And 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  209 

a  sac  for  a  human  heart  ?  To  the  Spaniard,  says 
Hay,  there  is  almost  a  feeUng  of  immorality  as- 
sociated with  bathing  all  over.  But  how  these 
people  have  luxuriated  in  their  Turkish  bath  of 
blood !  The  Castilian  ladies  used  to  glaze  their 
faces  twice  a  week  with  white  of  ^gg^  in  lieu  of 
the  abhorred  water.  Mohammedanism  is  this 
glaze. 

In  the  brilliancy  and  purity  of  this  air  one  can 
see  through  and  through,  even  to  scowling  Tur- 
key, on  the  horizon.  The  very  clouds  hang  low 
there,  as  if  full  of  hate.  How  beautiful  and 
bright  it  all  looks  now  in  the  poetry  in  which  it 
has  been  enshrined  :  Mesolonghi  and  Patras,  Na- 
varino  and  Nauplia.  It  takes  but  fifty  years  for 
a  battle  to  become  a  sublime  essence,  a  poem,  a 
strain  of  music.  Ascending  to  the  empyrean,  it 
descends  through  the  marvelous  channel  of  the 
poet's  brain  and  becomes  Balaklava,  Inkerman. 
Every  Greek  mind  is  stored  with  these  essences, 
poems,  and  strains  of  music.  Marathon  is  as 
fresh  as  the  last  theft.  Tall  Greeks  walk  amid 
these  memories  and  seem  to  grow  strangely  taller 
and  graver.  The  boy  Heine  insisted  that  glanbe 
was  credit^  not  religion^  in  French.  There  could 
be  no  such  fantastic  prank  among  these  clear- 
faced  Hellenes.  Whatever  else  they  are,  they 
are  in  earnest.  Thousands  of  them  devote  their 
days  and  nights  to  cigarettes,  but  they  do  it  with 
14 


2IO  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

quite  a  terrible  earnestness.  Perhaps  Froissart's 
triste  is  the  word  of  all  words  that  describes  them 
best  except  when  they  are  listening  to  Jean  Po- 
quelin's  comedies.  Then  their  intellectual  plane 
receives  a  tilt,  and  they  spin  around  like  the 
radiometer  on  the  point  of  its  needle.  Words- 
worth's 

"  A  yellow  primrose  at  the  brim, 

A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 

And  it  was  nothing  more," 

can  scarcely  be  said  of  the  Greeks.  They  see 
deep  significancy  and  symbolism  where  you  see  an 
asphodel  or  a  Peloponnesian  poppy  with  its  black 
cross  in  its  scarlet  centre.  If  their  mental  nails 
did  not  grow  inward  and  produce  the  torture  of 
eternal  recollection !  People  who  walk  with 
hooded  eyes,  and,  like  some  flowers,  exhale  only 
in  the  night,  what  can  be  expected  of  them  ? 
Surely  not  a  sensible  budget,  administrative 
reform,  religious  toleration,  and  macadamized 
roads.  And  for  all  these  the  Greeks  have  bound- 
less contempt.  KaXa,  KoXa  \  they  ejaculate,  and 
let  things  wag  on  as  usual,  reminding  one  hugely 
of  the  Spanish  crows  that  cry  Cruz  !  Cruz  I  in 
perpetual  reminiscence  of  the  cross.  KaXa  (well) 
is  the  stock  in  trade  of  the  defeated  Greek  when 
he  has  been  overwhelmed  in  argument  and  been 
made  to  feel  the  incisive  emphasis  of  compari- 
sons. The  phrase  is  unique  and  significant.  How 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  211 

much  more  respect  could  one  have  for  the  mod- 
ern Greeks  if  one  did  not  unhappily  remember 
that  the  word  for  "  being  a  citizen  ''  and  the  word 
for  "  marketable  ''  (TroXtrevo/xat)  are  the  same  ! 
A  strange  hyphen  connects  these  words,  which 
cower  under  their  common  Romaic  as  under  an 
umbrella.  The  swagger  and  stilts  of  the  Astu- 
rian  are  theirs,  too.  Eyes  will  blaze  and  hands 
gesticulate  if  the  divine  right  of  Greece  to  be 
a  nation  be  doubted.  The  doubt,  however,  is 
wholesome,  and  is  continually  suggested  by  what 
one  sees  there,  eats  there,  feels  and  smells  there. 
No  nation  has  the  right  divine  or  diabolic  to  rise 
in  revolt  against  the  five  senses  !  If  a  man  had 
sight  only,  how  lovely  would  be  Greece.  But  un- 
fortunately there  are  other  senses  equally  im- 
portunate. A  nose  or  an  ear  alone  would  be  the 
greatest  of  misfortunes  in  Hellas.  Let  us  cover 
the  carrion,  but  not  as  Charles  Baudelaire  did, 
with  a  purple  clout  of  verse. 

"  Tutto  e  pace  e  silenzio 
E  pill  di  lor  non  si  ragiona," 

says  the  poet.  These  sad  and  -.unutterable  soli- 
tudes of  unpeopled  Greece  are  full  of  pain.  It  is 
as  of  a  fullness  emptied,  a  sunshine  disillumined, 
a  country  populous  of  ghosts  and  bereft  of  men. 
Including  the  cicadae,  the  country  has  about  a 
million  and  a  half  of  people.  But  every  Greek 
considers  the  rest  of  mankind  a  mere   multiple 


212  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

of  zero,  and  he  increases  and  multiplies  in  his 
own  imagination  until  his  numerousness  becomes 
Greek  for  "  dropping  of  water,"  myriad.  The 
one  hundred  and  seventy  miles  of  length  and 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  width  of  Greece 
swell  in  his  mind's  eye  to  an  illimitable  pampas 
and  savanna  smiling  with  fertility,  and  an  avq- 
piOfjiov  yeXao-fxa  of  grain.  A  shock  to  this  illusion 
is  the  cruellest  blow  that  could  be  given  to  a 
democratic  people.  The  climate  is  moderate,  the 
people  immoderate  ;  the  country  is  unhealthy, 
the  people  healthy.  The  Greek  is  always  in  op- 
position. No  matter  where  you  are,  he  is  on  the 
other  side.  His  astronomical  term  is  apogee,  — 
off  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delectable  vision. 
Let  him  alone,  and  he  will  pin  to  his  shoulders 
the  wings  of  a  butterfly,  and  soar  joyously  sun- 
ward. Then  a  ray  scorches  him,  and  he  flutters 
in  the  lamp. 

One  can  never  fancy  a  modern  Greek  in  the 
attitude  of  Faust  —  deep  in  study  night  after 
night,  and  watching  the  moon  shining  on  his 
Gothic  vaults  till  wisdom  comes.  The  moon  is 
there,  and  the  watcher,  but  wisdom  cometh  not. 
And  there  is  such  beautiful  moonlight  in  Greece  ! 
What  is  the  use  of  so  much  fine  talk  among  the 
Greeks,  when  Greece  is  always  groveling  in  the 
dust  ?  Still  it  is  well  to  remember  that  Mount 
Parnassus,  with  Pindar  and  Epaminondas,  was  a 


GREEK   VIGNETTES,  213 

Boeotian  belonging ;  that  the  land  of  the  stupid 
people  culminated  in  the  peak  of  the  muses. 
Much  may  be  expected  from  Greece  in  spite  of 
flightiness,  light-headedness,  and  anger.  If  sink- 
ers could  be  tied  to  their  imaginations,  they  might 
catch  fish.  As  it  is,  they  are  made  of  gas  lighter 
than  hydrogen.  When  one  sits  in  their  cafes  and 
listens  to  their  talk,  one  seems  to  be  taking  in  a 
sort  of  ether  into  one's  ears,  and  there  is  a  delic- 
ious sensation  of  feet  planted  on  nothing.  Their 
talk  is  like  whipt  eggs.  No  sooner  is  a  govern- 
ment or  a  coalition  formed  than  it  dissolves  like  a 
lump  of  sugar.  And  then  recombination,  Goethe's 
"  application  of  a  chemical  principle  to  the  moral 
world,"  takes  place,  to  be  succeeded  by  the  in- 
stantaneous dropping  to  pieces  of  the  same  flower. 
A  tourist  must  not  become  a  regular  newspaper 
reader  while  in  Greece,  for  then  "Ec^aye  Awrw ! 
Let  him  be  content  with  eating  leeks  and  minding 
his  business.  In  Greece  everything  is  bounded 
by  water,  and  perhaps  it  is  the  eternal  contempla- 
tion of  this  changeful  element  that  has  reacted  on 
its  inhabitants,  and  generated  a  moral  idiosyn- 
crasy. There  is  even  symbolism  in  the  innumer- 
able islands-bits  that  light  up  the  Ionian  and 
^gean  seas,  for  disintegration  is  the  watchword 
of  the  country.  It  is  only  astonishing  that  the 
slight  umbilical  cord  of  six  miles  that  holds  con- 
tinental and  Peloponnesian  Greece  together  has 


214  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

not  been  long  ago  severed.  But  the  continual 
growl  of  the  earthquake  that  haunts  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Corinth  may  be  looked  upon  as  the 
earth-spirit^s  dissent  from  the  universal  law  !  A 
weak  current  of  life  circulates  through  this  cord, 
and  vitalizes  the  famished  extremities.  In  the 
Peloponnesus,  as  in  the  Mediterranean,  there  is 
no  tide.  There  is  nothing  but  the  dead  glitter- 
ing sunlight,  the  scathed  hills,  and  malaria.  Eu- 
bcea,  being  under  the  influence  of  the  Turkish 
rot,  is  rich  enough,  and  stretches  its  long  lance  of 
verdure  from  Talanti  to  the  province  of  Thebes. 
It  is,  as  it  were,  the  anthers  of  the  flower,  and 
scatters  its  golden  pollen  over  the  arid  beauty  of 
adjacent  provinces.  More  than  one  half  the 
country  is  occupied  by  rivers,  lakes,  and  mount- 
ains, the  other  half  by  half  a  dozen  people.  The 
terrible  sirocco  blows  over  Attica  and  Morea,  and 
knocks  down  your  animated  Greeks  like  a  row  of 
nine-pins  ;  or  is  it  the  siesta  that  clears  the  mid- 
day streets  ?  The  unutterable  anguish  of  this 
wind  cannot  be  imagined.  You  feel  as  if  you 
had  committed  crimes,  eaten  garlic,  or  talked  pol- 
itics. Invisible  fingers  play  along  your  nerves, 
and  drop  a  poison  all  through  the  system,  which 
results  in  an  indefinable  woe  and  lassitude.  This 
is  the  airy  purgatory  which  Africa  .sends  over  to 
Greece  to  punish  it  for  old  scores. 

Among  the  Greek  imports  there  are  few  ideas. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  21  5 

Among  their  exports  are  much  carbonic  acid, 
folly,  and  inconsistency.  The  soil  is  said  to  be 
magnificent,  but  it  produces  nothing.  To  grow 
wealthy  in  Greece  would  be  a  paradox,  for  all 
leave  the  country,  who  can,  and  grow  rich  in 
Manchester  and  Vienna.  The  geographical  feat- 
ures are  reflected  in  the  angular  forms  and  indi- 
vidualities of  the  inhabitants.  One  must  grant 
that  there  is  a  busy  circulation  of  boats  in  the 
Greek  harbors  and  round  the  coast,  and  in  the 
vast  inland  gulfs.  A  sort  of  ergot  has  blighted 
the  Greek  mind  while  it  was  in  the  milk,  hence 
the  rarity  of  intellectual  product.  Greece  is  too 
near  to  the  sun  to  come  to  anything.  It  is  the 
apple  of  the  sun's  eye,  and  is  burnt  wheat-white 
nearly  all  the  year  round.  The  soil  yields  a  few 
olives  and  grapes,  and  there  are  eels  in  Lake 
Copais.  Go  to  the  Greek  shops  and  find  the 
rest,  which  consists  principally  of  the  shopman. 
One  of  the  sorest  disadvantages  felt  by  Greek 
agriculture  is  said  to  be  the  lack  of  large  and 
swift  rivers.  But  I  confess  one  is  at  a  loss  to  find 
out  what  these  large  and  swift  rivers  would  carry 
off — Greeks  chiefly,  I  suspect.  A  nation  that 
follows  Hesiod  for  its  almanac  will  not  grow 
pease,  beans,  and  rice.  What  streams  they  have 
are  running  streams,  hasting  away  with  the  fertil- 
ity of  the  land.  And  when  the  skies  water  the 
land,  the  water  flies  away  with  prodigious  celerity, 


2l6  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

and  reenters  the  empyrean  by  evaporation.  If 
there  were  rain  in  summer,  the  potatoes  would 
be  ready  boiled  in  the  earth.  Scarcely  cotton 
enough  is  grown  in  Argos  and  the  Archipelago 
to  clothe  nakedness,  and  the  dreams  of  their 
statesmen  that  these  islands  will  one  day  com- 
pete with  the  Southern  States  and  India  are 
—  dreams.  As  soon  as  a  Greek  has  taken  too 
much  Kpacrt  —  dreams;  as  soon  as  he  lights  a 
cigarette  —  dreams  ;  as  soon  as  he  is  munching 
his  favorite  morsel  of  roasted  pumpkin-seed  — 
dreams.  It  is  some  comfort  to  Greece,  however, 
that  her  currants  help  to  make  seven  million  dol- 
lars' worth  of  English  plum-puddings ;  and  nine 
hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  olive  oil  in 
1875  went  into  England's  cruets.  Despite  Rhan- 
gawis'  lovely  allegory,  the  olive  seems  to  be  to 
Greece  what  the  banana  has  become  in  the 
Indies  —  a  source  of  laziness  and  demoraliza- 
tion. Its  teeming  and  spontaneous  productive- 
ness everywhere  forestalls  labor,  and  permits  the 
wretched  peasantry  to  go  on  in  their  squalor  as 
long  as  a  black  olive  will  drop  into  their  mouths. 
One  need  not  reproach  them  for  lighting  their 
lamps  with  it,  but  when  it  kills  out  everything 
else  except  indolence,  it  becomes  an  evil.  Look 
at  our  cotton-eating  Southerners  ! 

One  is  glad  to  find  the  Greeks  too  clever  for 
drunkenness.     Grapes   are   luxuriant,  here   and 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  21/ 

there,  —  chiefly  out  of  Greece,  in  the  islands. 
Perhaps  immemorial  wine-drinking  has  made 
them  the  spare,  tense,  sinewy  people  they  are, 
burning  them  out  like  an  inner  sunlight,  and 
making  of  them  the  half-translucent  skeletons 
that  we  see  them.  A  crust  is  left  behind,  and 
that  too,  cicada-like,  hanging  to  the  olive-tree. 
From  the  multiplicity  of  olive-branches  there  is 
no  peace ;  owing  to  the  multitude  of  grapes  there 
is  no  intoxication.  The  vine  is  the  most  prolific 
of  Greek  products  except  the  Greeks  themselves. 
As  in  most  poor  communities,  children  swarm, 
men  and  women  are  rare.  The  grape  and  the 
olive  —  peace  and  passion  —  intertwine  and  give 
birth  to  this  population  of  babes.  Think  of  the 
grape  growing  principally  over  the  exquisite  col- 
umns of  buried  Corinth  and  in  the  dells  and 
slopes  of  Arcadia !  One  has  a  vision  of  white 
capitals  and  pillared  stoas,  peripatetic  philoso- 
phers tangled  in  grape  leaves,  spells  of  Arcady, 
and  peace  on  perfect  landscapes. 

The  Greek  tobacco  does  not  remain  with  me 
as  of  very  delicious  perfume.  I  have  reminis- 
cences of  half-hours  of  torture  spent  at  cafes,  in 
hotels,  and  on  steamers,  when  I  was  forced  to 
inhale  the  odors  of  the  Argolic  and  Livadian 
weed,  to  the  uncontrollable  trouble  of  olfactories. 
When  a  Greek  has  smoked  his  hundredth  ciga- 
rette, he  begins  to  think  of  dinner.     Hence  the 


2l8  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

airiest  of  appetites.  Send  for  a  light,  and  the 
amiable  gargon  will  come  back  smoking  your 
cigarette  for  you.  To  such  courtesy  is  this  na- 
tion addicted.  The  wet  and  spittle-flecked  paper 
is  the  waiter's  offering  on  the  altar  of  good-fellow- 
ship. For  this  reason  one  eschews  tobacco  in 
Greece  or  carries  one's  own  KT^pia  (tapers).  Every 
minute  the  cigarette  is  out,  and,  as  one  said  of 
the  Iberians  for  the  same  reason,  what  can  you 
think  of  people  who  trifle  with  their  only  occu- 
pation in  that  way  ?  Every  /ca<^(^eretov  is  a  cloudy 
Olympus  where  the  Pantheon  is  assembled  under 
the  leadership  of  Momus.  The  male  Hebes  of 
these  establishments  are  of  the  earth  earthy. 
Judging  by  what  one  sees,  their  chief  food  in 
summer  seems  to  be  cigarettes,  nutshells,  fig- 
stems,  and  orange  peel.  The  sunniest  apricots 
and  goldenest  lemons  and  whitest-blossomed  al- 
monds are  gone  before  the  traveler  comes.  Then 
marvelous  are  the  stories  of  Attic  fertility,  trop- 
ical crops,  and  felicitous  seasons  dropped  into  his 
incredulous  ears.  The  figs  are  certainly  as  fla- 
vorous  as  they  were  in  antiquity,  and  the  fig-leaf 
as  rare.  They  are  greenish-yellow  of  aspect, 
pink  and  full  of  seed  inside,  and  form  a  delicious 
thimbleful  of  aromatic  fruit.  They  will  not,  how- 
ever, compare  with  the  celeste  fig  of  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  With  antiquity  has  disappeared  the 
race  of  sycophants  that  used  to  give  the  Attic 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  219 

lawgiver  so  much  trouble.  A  race  of  caterpillars 
that  live  on  the  inns  of  court  has  taken  their  place. 
If  there  were  any  figs  in  the  country,  beyond  the 
absolute  needs  of  the  consumers,  they  might  be 
exported  without  lese-majesty.  But  judging  by 
the  great  numbers  of  griddles  and  fritters  and 
quivering  things,  both  alive  and  farinaceous, 
which  I  saw  in  skillets,  I  should  say  the  modern 
Greeks  speak  historically  when  they  refer  to  figs, 
and  live  on  quite  different  fare.  The  whole 
quay  was  full  of  kicking  and  scintillating  pans  and 
braziers,  when  we  landed  at  Syra  and  threaded 
our  way  as  through  an  interminable  kitchen. 
The  cooks  did  not  seem  to  mind  the  donkeys' 
switching  their  tails  through  the  glowing  oil 
every  now  and  then,  and  seasoning  the  morceaux 
it  was  frying.  It  was  all  a  delightful  juxtaposi- 
tion and  picture  of  oriental  life,  —  oil  and  all. 

The  guide  -  books  have  umbrageous  stories 
about  the  forests  of  Greece,  how  they  cover  one 
eighth  of  the  whole  territory  of  the  kingdom. 
I  did  not  see  them  with  my  own  eyes,  and  rather 
think  the  boskiness  exists  only  in  the  fruitful 
fancies  of  the  guide-book  compilers.  The  Par- 
nessian,  Dorian,  Eubcean,  and  Acarnanian  forests 
were  famous  for  their  density  and  beauty.  The 
silk-worm  might  hypothetically  (as  what  might 
not,  all  the  world  over  ?)  be  cultivated  with 
profit,  if  —     But,  adds  the  dolorous  account,  — 


220  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

an  account  as  frequent  as  the  ever-recurring  re- 
sponse in  the  litany,  —  this  resource  also  has  been 
much  neglected.  Then  it  is  useless  to  talk  about 
imaginary  localities  which  might  be  clad  in  silk 
and  become  luxuriant  with  mulberry.  As  it  hap- 
pens, they  are  not,  and  our  concern  is  with  things 
present.  We  shall  never  see  fustanellas  of  silk 
trailing  this  storied  dust,  or  proud  pallikars 
touching  their  silken  caftans  to  the  Phanariote 
aristocrats,  at  least  not  until  Greece  pays  the 
interest  on  her  debt. 

Mines  and  quarries  ?  There  may  be,  as  a  French 
writer  remarks,  mountains  of  marble  containing 
enough  material  to  construct  another  Parthenon, 
only  it  will  never  be  constructed.  All  that  is 
needed  is  workmen  and  wagons.  Precisely,  — 
w^orkmen  and  wagons,  wagons  and  workmen, 
workmen  and  wagons,  one  goes  on  mechanically 
repeating  as  with  an  unmeaning  phrase,  in  a 
country  where  nothing  is  on  wheels.  "  The  road 
is  laid  out  from  the  mountains  to  the  Piraeus," 
adds  this  writer  picturesquely,  "  and  from  the 
Piraeus  to  the  whole  world.''  This  is  refresh- 
ingly like  Herodotus  describing  the  wonders  of 
Egypt.  It  seems  as  if  the  Greek  quarries  of  Paros 
and  Pentelicus  were  to  give  us  no  more  beauteous 
births  of  gods  and  goddesses,  not  only  because 
the  skilled  human  hand  is  no  longer  there,  but 
because  the  brute  marble  itself  cannot  be  got  at 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  221 

or  made  accessible  without  great  expense.  And 
Italy  loves  with  Buonarotti  to  linger  among  her 
own  Carrara  quarries  in  the  hope  that  genius  and 
memory  may  bring  her  a  new  renaissance.  The 
Greeks  know  of  the  existence  of  lead,  silver, 
emery,  but  this  knowledge  is  as  bad  to  them  as 
the  Anglo-Saxon  poet  describes  the  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil  to  have  been  to  Adam  and  Eve. 
The  mere  knowledge  of  good,  with  attainment  on 
the  other  side  of  the  sea,  is  a  downright  evil ; 
and  so  what  belongs  by  right  to  Hellas  is  falling 
into  the  hands  of  greedy  foreign  capitalists,  who 
are  picking  among  the  trash  left  at  Laurium  by 
the  slaves  of  Nikias,  and  hope  to  turn  a  penny 
thereby.  One  can  imagine  the  emotions  of  the 
people,  as  they  stand  by  with  empty  pockets  and 
see  the  foreigners  filling  theirs.  The  Greeks 
have  not  what  the  Germans  call  the  SUberblick 
(the  silver  eye),  for  where  it  is  raining  silver  to 
others,  to  them,  poor  people,  it  is  a  rain  of  lead. 
Not  that  they  do  not  desire  silver,  of  all  earthly 
blessings  and  benedictions.  The  love  of  it  has 
given  birth  —  after  laborious  parturition,  to  be 
sure, — to  really  admirable  traits  in  them.  For 
example,  brothers  will  not  marry  till  all  their 
sisters  are  provided  for ;  and  there  is  careful  talk 
about  how  many  olive-trees  a  prospective  bride- 
groom brings.  On  these  will  depend  the  happi- 
ness of  the  Psalmist's  olive  plants,  who  are  to 
sit  around  the  table. 


222  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

The  chattiness  of  the  Greeks  may  be  inferred 
from  the  two  hundred  thousand  telegrams  sent 
over  the  telegraphic  wires  in  1875  i  indeed,  what 
keeps  the  country  from  absolute  inanition  is  the 
fifteen  hundred  miles  of  wires  that  connect  it  with 
itself  and  with  "  Europe."  There  are  a  few  post- 
offices,  but  the  letters  and  papers  sent  through 
them  for  the  whole  kingdom  hardly  exceed  the 
proportions  of  Chicago. 

The  Greeks  belong  to  those  unhappy  people 
who  spend  more  than  their  incomes.  Hence 
tranquillity  is  not  a  nightly  guest,  and  annual  def- 
icits have  not  been  opiates  to  an  unquiet  con- 
science. Think  of  bees  being  directly  taxed  to 
help  out  this  pitiable  state  of  things  !  And  then 
the  gall  mingled  with  that  honey  !  A  matter  of 
$75,000  or  $150,000  on  the  debit  side  of  the  ac- 
count book  is  a  formidable  affair  in  this  diminu- 
tive territory.  Men  shrug  their  shoulders  and 
look  grave  ;  the  affair  is  a  matter  of  life  and 
death,  orange-peel  this  year  and  pumpkin-seed 
next,  through  a  series  of  excruciating  economies. 
The  floating  debt  is  sinking  the  country,  letting 
alone  the  enormous  foreign  debt  of  some  eighty 
millions.  This  is  no  small  matter  to  a  land  all 
beauty  and  brightness  and  aridness.  Then  pecu- 
lation has  its  pickings ;  and  pensions,  civil-list, 
deputies,  war-office,  interior,  administration,  and 
collection  of  revenues  come  in  for  a  share  of 
plunder. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  223 

The  Greek  fleet,  such  as  it  is,  abounds  in  picto- 
rial names  —  Basileus  Giorgios,  Salaminia,  Glau- 
kos,  Polydeukes,  Amphitrite,  etc.  Three  or  four 
hundred  sailors  constitute  the  working  force,  with 
half  as  many  subalterns  and  a  few  officers. 
Greece  will  not  dispute  the  supremacy  of  the 
seas  with  this  force.  But  one  should  not  smile 
at  these  Liliputian  dimensions,  or  at  the  mosaic 
complexion  of  the  army,  with  its  tithe  of  nation- 
alities, like  a  pope's  guard.  They  do  what  they 
can.  And  Greece  has  so  long  been  a  nursUng 
of  England  that  she  is  still  as  it  were  in  her 
night-gown  and  nurse's  arms  —  a  dry  nurse,  too. 
A  handful  of  Anglo-Saxons  and  a  bit  of  Lom- 
bard Street  would  rehabilitate  Greece  wonder- 
fully. Pity  that  England  did  not  take  charge  of 
continental  rather  than  of  insular  Greece  ;  then 
perhaps  there  might  have  been  twenty  miles  of 
roads  or  a  navigable  stream.  As  it  is,  one  be- 
strides an  abnormally  gaunt  steed,  with  a  sort  of 
wooden  cold-frame  for  a  saddle,  and  picks  one's 
patient  way  over  the  blessed  fields.  And  this 
Pickwickian  jaunt  is  not  interfered  with  by 
fences. 

A  curious  sort  of  religious  toleration  exists  in 
Greece.  You  may  practice  your  own  faith  to 
your  heart's  content ;  but  if  you  attempt  to  turn 
a  Greek  from  the  error  of  his  ways,  you  may  be 
thrown  into  prison.     This  accomplished  people 


224  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

consider  their  religion  ultimate,  and  proselytism 
treason.  The  Orthodox  Eastern  Church  gazes 
on  Roman  Catholic  performances  with  amused 
contempt.  They  consider  them  childish,  super- 
stitious, and  irreverent,  forgetting  their  own  fa- 
naticism, infatuation,  and  saint-worship.  St.  Spir- 
idon  annually  has  all  Corfu  on  its  knees,  doing 
obeisance  to  his  wonder-working  toe.  One  should 
like  to  know  if  this  is  any  better  than  popish 
hagiology.  Independent  in  all  things,  the  Greek 
Church  is  a  secession  from  the  patriarchate  of 
Constantinople,  and  has  an  incredible  number  of 
archbishops  and  bishops  for  the  size  of  its  do- 
main. The  old  scholastic  quibble  of  how  many 
angels  could  dance  on  the  point  of  a  cambric 
needle  has  become  in  Greece  :  How  many  bishops 
and  archbishops  can  find  dioceses  in  the  ep- 
archies? There  are  no  less  than  ^\^  of  each  in 
the  small  Ionian  islands,  six  of  each  in  the  insig- 
nificant peninsula  of  Peloponnesus,  and  nearly 
as  many  for  continental  Greece  proper.  Some  of 
the  places  are  said  to  be  purchased.  Athens  is 
the  seat  of  the  metropolitan,  who  is  the  apex  of 
the  ecclesiastical  pyramid.  Happy  prelates  who 
are  paid  by  the  state  ;  unfortunate  subordinates 
who  get  precarious  sustenance  from  matrimonial, 
baptismal,  and  burial  fees  !  One  can  appreciate 
the  energy  with  which  these  good  people  marry, 
baptize,  and  bury.     Every  lover's  sigh  is  to  them 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  225 

a  drachma  ;  every  infant's  wail  a  glad  summons ; 
every  cypress  planted  the  symbol  of  content. 

"  Come,  come  with  me,  and  we  will  make  short  work  ; 
For  by  your  leaves,  you  shall  not  stay  alone, 
Till  holy  church  incorporate  two  in  one  !  " 

cries  the  friar  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

It  is  hardly  the  province  of  a  sketch-book  to 
enter  into  matters  of  dogma  and  describe  the 
differences  between  Catholics  and  Greeks.  They 
are  at  one  in  four,  and  at  variance  in  eight 
points  \  the  differences  beginning  with  the  altar- 
railings  and  ending  with  the  mode  of  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  the  agreements  beginning 
in  the  mysteries  of  transubstantiation  and  ending 
in  the  mists  of  idol-worship.  In  spite  of  these 
harmonies  and  discords,  which  would  seem  to 
neutralize  one  another  and  produce  peace,  there 
is  mutual  abhorrence.  Of  course  the  celibate  Ro- 
man despises  the  connubial  Greek.  Then  there 
is  unseemly  squabbling  over  the  sacramental  ele- 
ments, over  the  observation  of  Easter,  over  the 
dogma  of  purgatory,  and  over  the  reading  of  the 
Scriptures.  Into  what  infinity  of  detail  all  this 
enters  is  unknown  save  to  the  churches  them- 
selves. It  amounts,  however,  to  sneers  and  laugh- 
ter on  both  sides. 

The  same  delightful  vagueness  about  educa- 
tional matters  among  the  women  exists  in  Greece 
15 


226  GREEK   VIGNETTES 

as  in  Spain.  We  are  told  that  even  tolerably 
schooled  Spanish  sehoritas  cannot  tell  the  differ- 
ence between  a  b  and  a  v^  and  only  seven  or  eight 
per  cent,  of  the  Greek  women  can  read  and  write 
their  own  names.  They  are  not  by  any  means 
tongue-tied,  as  one  finds  when  riding  in  railway 
carriages  with  them.  Only  a  very  small  propor- 
tion of  the  women  attend  the  public  schools,  and 
those  of  the  better  class  have  in  the  last  forty 
years  been  educated  by  Dr.  Hill,  the  American 
missionary.  One  is  surprised  now  and  then  to 
hear  the  women  talking  English  at  the  theatres 
in  Greece.  The  general  public-school  system  of 
Greece  is  elaborate  enough,  but  there  are,  I  think, 
more  parrots  than  Persons  educated  by  them. 
Communal  schools,  Hellenic  schools,  gymnasia, 
and  the  university,  constitute  the  fourfold  divis- 
ion of  the  system.  The  communal  schools  are 
elementary,  and  include  the  three  R's  and  bits  of 
history,  geography,  and  natural  philosophy.  The 
Greeks  are  too  quick-witted  to  learn  much.  With 
them  knowledge  is  inspiration  and  argument  is 
assertion.  They  will  run  round  the  navigable 
and  innavigable  globe  in  less  time  than  you  can 
say  Jack  Robinson,  and  display  infinite  ignorance 
in  the  journey.  And  the  institutions  where  all 
this  is  taught  are  open  to  both  sexes. 

Then  come  the  so-called  Hellenic  schools,  de- 
voted to  French,  Latin,  and  Greek  (with  "  pony- 


GREEK   VIGNETTES,  22/ 

ing  "  from  ancient  into  modern  Greek).  To  judge 
by  specimens  of  table  d'hote  French  to  which  I 
was  inquisitorially  bound  to  Hsten,  I  should  say 
that  the  Greek  French  was  at  least  as  bad  as  the 
French  Greek.  And  this,  too,  despite  the  Institut 
Frangais  at  Athens,  a  colony  of  the  University 
of  France  designed  to  promote  classic  and  ar- 
chaeological studies.  What  the  Latin  is  may  be 
judged  from  the  tortuous  and  torturing  Italian 
which  one  takes  down  with  the  atrocious  Szexard 
wine  on  board  the  steamers,  on  the  quays,  in  the 
salons,  and  on  the  streets.  Omnes  vulnerant,  ul- 
tima necat,  read  Theophile  Gautier  of  the  hours 
on  the  hour-disk  of  the  town-clock  of  Urrugue. 
So  with  the  Greek  Italian.  One  delights  to 
know  that  the  Greek  girls  really  read  "  Thouky- 
dee'des,"  as  they  call  him,  with  fluency,  in  their 
upper  classes.  And  from  the  facile  and  melodi- 
ous names  appropriated  to  them  —  Nausikaa, 
Corinna,  Sappho,  Eurydike,  Olympias  —  one 
might  be  misled  to  think  they  knew  something 
about  ancient  history.  Such  is  seldom  the  case. 
Then  comes  the  next  link,  the  gymnasia,  high 
schools  or  koles  siiperieures^  where  the  scholars 
"  pursue "  (without  ever  attaining)  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  all  the  'ics,  'isms,  'ologies,  'phies, 
and  lingos  embraced  under  logic,  ethics,  phys- 
ics, philosophy,  French,  English,  and  German. 
And  after  it  all  I  met  but  one  man  that  could 


228  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

speak  English,  two  that  could  speak  French,  and 
none  that  could  speak  Greek.  The  Greek  that 
spoke  French  was  a  Russian ;  M.  Evangelides 
had  been  educated  in  America ;  and  the  Greeks 
had  not  been  educated  at  all.  What  philosophy 
can  be  taught,  or  what  logic,  in  this  irrational  list, 
or  whose  ethics  is  exemplified  in  the  shops  and 
iivo^o^cla  (guest-holders),  one  is  in  the  so  fre- 
quent predicament  of   the  Greeks  themselves  — 

arropo^  —  to  know. 

Last  of  all,  like  the  impedimenta  of  some  vast 
army,  comes  in  the  university.  The  course  con- 
sists principally  of  professors.  Students  are  ad- 
mitted and  run  up  to  large  numbers.  If  the  uni- 
versity did  not  turn  out  so  many  pettifoggers  and 
theologues,  it  would  be  a  really  useful  institution. 
Litigation  would  be  less  perennial  than  it  is,  and 
religion  more  religious.  One  cannot  see  the  for- 
est for  the  trees,  said  Richter.  One  cannot  be- 
lieve for  the  believers.  Many  men  of  celebrity 
have  been  connected  with  the  university  —  patri- 
ots, statesmen,  even  scholars.  It  is  of  too  crude 
growth  and  too  recent  establishment  to  ripen 
and  mature  the  intellects  of  Greece.  Hence  the 
state  of  feverish  inquietude,  equinoctial  uncer- 
tainty ;  hence  the  "  mothery  "  condition  of  Greek 
life.  It  is  as  with  a  young  god  full  of  the  fury 
of  some  divine  wine.  The  nation  is  ever  reeling 
in  political  excitement,  raging  with  dissensions, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  229 

oscillating  between  extremes.  It  has  waked  in 
the  night  and  is  full  of  furious  spring  fever.  It 
is  not  the  still  and  solemn  sea ;  it  is  the  edge  of 
it  as  it  lashes  the  shore  in  leonine  surges  and 
scatters  spray  to  the  stars.  When  the  sun  has 
sweetened  and  cleared  all  these  wild  juices ; 
when  Greece  has  won  the  tranquillity  of  culture ; 
when  the  Boule  ceases  to  be  a  marionnette  thea- 
tre and  becomes  a  house  of  parliament ;  when 
there  is  a  head  to  these  thousand  limbs  and  a 
hand  with  a  whip  in  it,  —  then  the  university 
will  have  accomplished  its  most  noble  missionary 
work.  And  not  till  then  will  there  be  citizens 
and  scholars.  At  present  one  sees  a  nation  of 
school  children,  satchel  in  hand,  going  to  the 
newest  sciences  to  be  fed  with  the  latest  develop- 
ments —  hearty,  winsome,  eloquent,  and  obliging 
children  withal,  but  entirely  too  much  given  to 
gongs  and  pancakes.  A  sound  castigation  now 
and  then  from  reasonable  people,  a  decided  set- 
down  of  national  conceit,  some  glimmering  intu- 
itions of  the  geographical  proportions  and  impor- 
tance of  other  countries,  a  little  logic  of  events, 
and  economy  both  political  and  private,  both  in 
word  and  in  deed  ;  these  are  elements  towards 
the  realization  of  that  pining  for  nationality 
which  has  become  a  malady  with  the  Greeks. 
It  is  useless  to  climb  frantic  May-poles  and 
think  to  get  a  coup  d^ceil  of  the  universe.     Stay 


230  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

where  you  are,  on  the  sober  earth,  with  feet  well 
planted  in  facts,  no  matter  how  the  nettles  sting. 
Then  Soutzos'  beautiful  dream  may  again  be 
realized :  — 

Xcjpa  fieyaXocpvtag  \  .  .  .  .  elg  rovg  KoT^Tzovg  gov  to  nakai, 
''Qi  narpig  fiov  \  at  Ideal  uvE(3?iaGT0vv  at  fj,Eyd?ML  * 
Kal  TvpavvoKTOvov  ^Idoc  KpvTVTOvreg  elg  rug  fzvpalvag 
01  'ApfiodiOL  uvcjpT^ovv  laovofiovg  rug  ''k-dijvag. 
"AXkoTE  Qeol  eirarovv  ra  edadTj  gov,  kol  d^elav 
"Ecjg  G7/fiepov  rj  yrj  gov  avadldei  evudiav, 

Kal  rj  avpa  rov  ^scjivpov. 
Ilviei  £Ti  TTjv  d/);^;amv  fieTicpdiav  tov  'Ofir^pov. 

I  suspect  the  Greeks  will  have  to  come  down 
to  the  narrow  English  notion  of  "  comfort "  be- 
fore they  ever  become  anything.  A  nation  that 
scorns  many  of  the  decencies  and  indecencies 
of  life,  that  waives  hospitality,  that  calls  a  pipe 
a  smoke-syringe  and  a  bed  a  wood-heap  (ivXo- 
KpalS/Sdnov),  that  is  devoured  by  mosquitoes  and 
sun,  and  scorns  sun-shades  and  mosquito-nets, 
that  calls  an  individual  an  afom  (aro/xov),  an  offi- 
cer axiomatic  (dftto/xartKo?),  a  port  a  pore  (iropos, 
outlet),  the  spiritual  life  the  pneumatic  hereafter, 
and  makes  a  ghost  {<noiy^iov^  element)  of  Sir  Will- 
iam Hamilton's  stoicheiology  ;  a  nation,  more- 
over, that  twists  philosophical  terminology  and 
taunts  a  horse  with  being  irrational  (aXoyov, 
horse),  takes  in  vain  the  fine  old  term  of  the 
Ionic  philosophers,  analysis^   the  dissolution  of 

1  Vid.  Geldart. 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  23  I 

the  elements  of  created  things  in  decay  or  death, 
and  makes  it  dissolve  a  lump  of  sugar  in  the 
abominable  black  coffee  of  Athens,  and  turns  in- 
side out  the  philosophic  schema^  thesis^  and  taxis 
of  Democritus  and  Leucippus,  and  makes  them 
mean  respectively  a  monk's  habit,  a  place  in  a 
coach,  and  a  class  in  a  steam-packet  or  railway 
carriage  ;  is  such  a  nation,  one  breathlessly  asks, 
on  the  way  to  political  regeneration  ?  In  the  fine 
old  Greek  word  for  calm  {yakqi'-r])  the  ancients  saw 
"the  smile  of  the  sea"-^  (yeXav),  In  modern 
times  their  descendants  regard  a  calm,  political 
or  otherwise,  as  a  great  discomfort.  Who  knows 
what  a  little  attention  to  Buckle's  idea  of  the  in- 
fluence of  food  on  the  national  life  would  evoke 
in  the  way  of  health  and  wholesomeness  in  this 
southern  latitude.  "  Carry  biscuits  and  provis- 
ions," cried  the  Bayonnais  to  Gautier,  on  his  way 
to  Spain,  in  1840 ;  "  the  Spaniards  breakfast  on 
a  teaspoonful  of  chocolate,  dine  on  an  onion 
steeped  in  water,  and  sup  on  a  paper  cigarette !  " 
And  this  has  reduced  Spain  to  what  it  is. 

Of  national  traits  there  are  some  most  amiable 
ones ;  of  traitors  no  end,  if  one  gives  heed  to  the 
denunciations  of  the  men  in  office.  A  word  of 
abuse  in  Greece  is  always  something  concrete ;  a 
man  who  does  not  believe  your  way,  or  go  the 
length  of  your  tether,  is  a  dog,  an  assassin,  an  ass, 
1  Vid.  Geldart. 


232  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

an  idiot.  No  sooner  does  a  man  climb  to  the 
height  of  his  ambition,  than  people  drag  him 
down  to  the  depth  of  theirs.  Nameless  crimes 
have  been  attributed  to  one  of  the  best  and 
gentlest  of  kings.  If  their  majesties  gave  a  ball 
every  night  in  the  year,  it  would  not  stop  the 
busy  feet  of  the  guests  from  kicking  at  them.  As 
the  king  is  blond,  they  want  him  brun ;  as  he  is 
short,  they  want  him  tall ;  as  he  is  young,  they 
want  him  old.  As  for  the  queen,  she  is  a  Rus- 
sian. Fortunately  the  children  have  all  been 
born  in  Greece,  and  there  is  a  slight  hope  that  the 
Greeks  will  at  last  have  a  Hellenic  king,  and 
the  present  Danish  dynasty  be  perpetuated.  A 
child  must  be  named  Constantine,  in  view  of  the 
immemorial  hope  of  a  restoration  of  the  empire  of 
Constantine  the  Great.  There  is  something  pa- 
thetic in  the  polygot  of  languages  with  which  such 
a  royal  child  must  be  tormented :  Danish,  Rus- 
sian, Greek,  Italian,  English,  French,  and  German. 
In  the  acquisition  of  these,  kings  forget  to  be  con- 
stitutional. In  conning  their  Ollendorffs,  they 
neglect  the  law.  In  the  purgatory  of  irregular 
verbs,  they  hear  not  the  cries  of  their  subjects. 
Genders  are  to  them  more  than  genius,  and  felic- 
ity of  phrase  than  the  greatest  common  good. 
Both  Otho  and  George  w^ere  taken  young,  no 
doubt  that  they  might  overcome  the  difficulties  of 
modern  Greek.     The  one  acquired  the  language 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  233 

and  lost  his  kingdom.  The  other  rules  to-day 
surrounded  by  a  troop  of  light-haired,  happy- 
hearted  Danish  children,  with  his  queen  Olga  of 
the  golden  hair  and  wonderful  complexion.  And 
she  with  her  low-bodiced  dames  of  honor,  her  vast 
palace,  her  carriages  and  horses,  and  her  charm- 
ing garden,  loses  hardly  more  than  three  nights' 
rest  a  week  in  dread  of  revolution.  Whether  any 
one  of  her  bright  princes  and  princesses  will  ever 
sit  on  the  throne  of  Greece  no  doubt  affords  the 
royal  mother  many  an  hour  of  anxiety.  Nobody 
else  seems  anxious.  To  hear  the  Greeks  talk,  now 
and  then,  one  would  think  they  adored  their  rulers 
and  prayed  for  their  health  and  wealth  every  hour 
in  the  day.  So  they  did  with  poor  Otho,  till  one 
morning  he  went  on  a  visit  to  the  Peloponnesus, 
and  —  never  came  back  again.  A  king  on  the 
throne  of  Greece  is  in  the  attitude  of  the  Parisian 
who  works  the  spiral  velocipede :  there  is  gyra- 
tion, if  there  is  not  absolute  revolution,  all  the 
time.  To  the  all-wise  Greeks  the  quadrature  of 
the  circle  is  a  trifle  ;  they  see  through  govern- 
mental and  administrative  perplexities,  and  could 
point  you  out  a  thousand  modes  of  settling  them. 
But  they  never  do.  They  see  through  the  mill- 
stone j  but  it  grinds  them  no  corn.  Hence  their 
politics  without  a  party,  coalitions  without  a  pol- 
icy, dissolutions  and  recombinations  in  dizzying 
succession.     The  people  gaze  and  whip  on  the 


234  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

top  :  all  which  comes  from  six  hundred  and  twen- 
ty-two out  of  the  twelve  hundred  university  stu- 
dents being  lawyers. 

The  singular  and  spontaneous  outburst  of  gam- 
bling throughout  Greece  on  New  Year's  Eve  and 
New  Year's  Day  is  a  phenomenon.  Though 
strictly  forbidden  by  law  throughout  Europe,  with 
the  exception  of  Monaco,  there  is  an  annual  re- 
bellion in  Greece  which  rages  for  several  days 
and  involves  all  classes  of  the  population.  Banks 
are  improvised  in  the  cafes,  and  groups  of  im- 
passioned players  and  passionate  pilgrims  sur- 
round the  tables,  dumbly  staring  or  desperately 
playing.  Processions  of  boys  move  through  the 
streets  at  night,  and  press  into  all  the  coffee- 
houses and  wine-shops,  with  drummer  and  flute- 
blower  leading ;  they  drag  around  a  great  picture 
of  a  vessel  or  steamship,  or  a  dunce-cap  of  colored 
paper  on  a  frame,  illuminated  inside.  The  boys 
crowd  around  the  transparency  and  accompany 
its  progress  through  the  town  with  a  peculiar 
Turkish-sounding  chant.  As  soon  as  they  enter 
a  cafe  they  hand  round  a  plate  and  gather  in 
coppers.  On  New  Year's  Day  itself  the  object  of 
these  collections  comes  out :  tables  are  set  up  in  all 
the  streets,  whereon  roulette-dishes  stand,  a  raga- 
muffin plays  croupier,  and  other,  ragamuffins 
stand  round  gloating  on  the  game.  Sometimes 
playthings  and  confectionery,  provided  with  num- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  235 

bers,  are  placed  upon  the  table,  and  lottery  num- 
bers are  drawn  out  of  a  bag.  This  gives  a 
glimpse  of  Young  Greece.  And  they  will  ask 
Your  Brilliancy  (o-a?  Xa^jLTrpoTarrj^)  for  money  with 
all  imaginable  grace  and  glibness,  and  in  times 
of  mourning  will  even  crape  their  chimneys  to 
show^  their  deep  and  indescribable  grief. 

American  legislators  night  contemplate  with 
edification  the  salaries  of  three  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  apiece^  which  the  parliamentary  deputies 
get,  and  the  two  thousand  given  to  the  king's 
ministers.  These  pittances,  one  is  told,  are  en- 
riched and  increased  by  bribery,  peculation,  sales, 
threats,  and  manoeuvring.  Though  the  deputies 
are  allowed  seats  in  the  Boule,  one  is  not  allowed 
or  expected  to  sit  down  in  the  house  of  God,  for 
there  are  no  seats.  One's  head  swims  before  a 
sort  of  mirage  of  antiquity  on  seeing  Sophokles, 
Socrates,  Phil-Hellene,  Stadion,  and  Euripides 
Street,  neatly  painted  in  black  and  white,  and 
affixed  to  the  house-corners.  And  if  one  hails 
one  of  the  Maltese  commissionaires  standing  in 
these  streets,  the  incongruity  may  be  increased 
by  an  answer  in  Arabic.  And  further,  ^^  Arabic 
corn  "  will  rouse  the  indignation  of  all  true  Amer- 
icans as  a  name  given  to  our  maize.  What  with 
saints'  days,  names,  mendicancy,  and  pride  ;  what 
with  love  of  decorations  and  uniforms,  quietness 
in  crowds,  family  affection,  honesty  of  servants, 


236  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

and  laxity  in  official  life,  one's  view  of  these 
strange  people  becomes  touched  with  a  thousand 
tints,  and  ends,  like  Wagner's  operas,  in  a  grand 
discord.  Who  was  it  who  said  that  Athens  be- 
came the  Byzantine  Siberia  ?  Those  gloomy 
days  are  past,  and  we  have  a  beautiful  city,  full 
of  the  intensest  modern  life,  the  liveliest  colors, 
the  newest  modes  and  measures,  gas,  theatres, 
newspapers,  and  a  king.  The  Greeks  must  try 
to  be  like  everybody  else,  or  perish  in  the  effort. 
They  approach  it  as  nearly  as  a  people  in  petti- 
coats can.  True,  their  bookshops  are  unspeak- 
ably dismal,  and  contain  nothing ;  Pindar's  fiaBv- 
^(DvoL  women  still  trip  about  the  thoroughfares ; 
they  greet  one  with  the  antique  x^^^P^  (hail !)  ;  the 
men  kiss  each  other  on  parting,  and  the  priests 
name  the  children  ;  but  these  little  Hellenisms 
will  probably  soon  wear  away,  and  we  shall  have 
the  Greeks  as  they  desire  to  be — fourth-rate  im- 
itations of  the  French.  Lutetia  Parisiorum,  the 
favorite  of  Julian  the  Apostate,  is  the  fit  Mecca  of 
these  would-be  apostate  people.  It  is  a  French 
novel  or  a  ribald  play  that  one  picks  up  in  an 
Athenian  bookstall,  not  often  the  erudite  commen- 
tary of  some  German  scholar  who  has  spent  a  life- 
time on  the  Greek  prepositions.  And  of  the  two 
one  prefers  the  novel.  That  is  at  least  light  and 
handy,  while  the  other  is  an  interminable  thicket 
of  references  in  crabbed  type.   The  books  that  fa- 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  237 

vor  Greece  are  sometimes  found  there,  and  those 
that  do  not,  being  on  the  index  expurgatorius,  are 
seldom  to  be  found.  Thus  they  live  in  a  delightful 
atmosphere  of  perfumed  self-complacency,  and 
think  all  the  world  is  agape  with  admiration.  Ad- 
verse criticism  is  intolerable  ;  hence  the  odium  of 
About,  Fallmerayer,  and  others.  If  you  fall  on 
your  knees  and  worship,  then  Greece  may  save 
you  ;  but  the  least  sparkle  of  a  critical  eye  will 
condemn  to  eternal  banishment.  The  Greeks  are 
now  somewhat  in  the  attitude  of  the  Americans 
fifty  years  ago,  —  new,  self-conscious,  arrogant, 
and  ignorant,  fit  subjects  for  the  Halls  and  Trol- 
lopes  that  excoriated  them.  Like  all  near-sighted 
and  slightly  deaf  people,  they  are  suspicious,  and 
in  inverse  proportion  to  their  having  any  reason 
to  be.  Natural  laughter  and  smiles  they  con- 
strue into  disapprobation  ;  a  twitch  of  the  mouth 
is  a  taunt  thrown  at  some  institution ;  tourists 
are  sbirros  come  to  spy  out  the  nakedness  of 
the  land  and  immortalize  it  in  some  defamatory 
book.  Tuckerman  tells  us  that  they  have  a 
rather  unpleasant  habit  of  writing  letters  to 
strangers  whom  they  imagine  wealthy,  and,  if 
they  get  anything,  are  occasionally  seen  enter- 
taining themselves  and  their  friends  with  it  at 
cafes.  This  I  cannot  vouch  for,  but  it  is  cer- 
tainly not  peculiar  to  this  folk.  There  are 
kindly  traits  and  good  traits  in  them  as  in  all  j 


238  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

only,  pretense  is  a  little  more  ebullient  in  Greece 
than  elsewhere,  and  a  habit  of  exaggeration  is 
strong  in  the  nation.  A  nation  without  conceit 
—  the  illusion  of  (non-existent)  greatness  —  would 
perhaps  be  little  worth,  for  there  is  a  grain  of 
gold  in  the  vice,  which  sometimes  helps  people 
into  being  eventually  what  they  think  they  al- 
ready are.  There  are  no  ghosts  to  those  who  do 
not  fear  them,  said  Voltaire.  The  spectacle  of 
regenerated,  purified,  and  law-abiding  Hellas 
would  be  a  noble  one  for  the  world.  Brigand- 
age extinguished,  roads  built,  the  country  de- 
veloped, and  foreign  capital  attracted,  we  should 
see  the  youngest  of  nationalities  entering  on  a 
long  and  prosperous  career,  perhaps  her  ancient 
glory  revived,  and  an  ingenuous  and  ingenious 
population  plucked  from  the  grasp  of  scheming 
politicians.  This  is  too  much  to  hope  for,  until 
Greece  has  passed  through  the  green  and  yeasty 
stage  in  which  she  now  finds  herself,  —  a  stage 
which  our  gardens  exhibit  every  spring,  and 
which  is  not  to  be  got  through  with  till  the  long 
autumn  and  afternoon  ripen  with  their  beneficent 
heat. 

What  a  curious  aspect  foreign  proper  names 
have  acquired  in  Greek  !  Names  familiar  to  us 
are  often  unintelligible  at  the  first  glance.  Gen- 
eral Church,  the  former  commander-in-chief  of 
the  Greek  army,  has   become   Htpvprt,)  Blooms- 


GREEK   VIGNETTES.  239 

bury  Museum,  in  London,  BAoi;/xo-/x7roupe  Movo-etov  ; 
Washington  and  Webster,  Bao-tyKrojF  and  Tovl/S- 
(TT€p;  Manchester  and  Mahomet,  Mdyx^o-rp ta  and 
McodfxeS ;  Connecticut  and  WelUngton,  KovveKTiKar 
and  VoveXtyKTUiv ;  Clay,  Monroe,  and  California, 
KXatu,  Movpoe,  and  KaXAt<^poi/ta ;  Liverpool,  Pic- 
cadilly, Stanfield,  and  Finlay  (the  historian  of 
Greece),  At^epTrouX,  UiKaBlWo,  Srai/c^tT^XS,  and 
^LvXav ;  Birmingham  and  Victoria,  Btp/xtyya/x  and 
BiKTopia ;  all  ingenious  and  happy,  but  fantastic- 
looking  reproductions. 

A  similar  transformation  has  taken  place  in  the 
folk-lore  of  ancient  Greece.  A  delightful  chapter 
might  be  written  by  some  competent  person  on 
modern  Greek  folk-lore.  It  is  full  of  the  per- 
fume of  antiquity,  strikingly  original  and  poetic, 
and  abounds  in  archaeological  interest.  Bernhard 
Schmidt  -^  has  made  a  most  interesting  collection 
of  contemporary  Hellenic  usage  and  tradition  in 
this  respect ;  but  it  is  not  accessible  to  the  non- 
German-reading  investigator.  "  As  a  rule,  good 
books  are  in  German,"  says  Seeley,  '^  and  it  may 
happen  that  the  student  does  not  know  German." 

The  nereid-legend  is  the  loveliest  of  all,  and 
winds  through  popular  life  in  Hellas  like  a 
golden  thread.  "Beautiful  as  anereid,"  "nereid- 
eyed,"  are  common  expressions  even  among  the 

1  Volksleheti  der  Neugriechen  tmd  das  Hellenische  Alter- 
thum.     Leipzig,  187 1. 


240  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

lower  classes.  The  nereids  are  no  longer  water- 
nymphs  exclusively,  but  run  through  every  phase 
of  human  and  landscape  life,  embracing  the 
naiads,  oreads,  and  dryads.  They  visit  as  The 
Friendly  Ones,  the  seas,  rivers,  springs,  and  fount- 
ains, the  forests,  gorges,  and  caves,  the  high 
mountains,  valleys,  and  plains  \  they  nest  in  the 
huge  niched  olive-trees  and  stone  oaks ;  they 
give  names  to  many  localities  ;  they  dance  by 
moonlight  on  the  ancient  spots  consecrated  to 
them,  like  the  Karykian  cave  of  Parnassus,  in 
antiquity ;  they  are  slender-figured,  brilliant- 
faced  ;  beautiful  girls  are  said  to  be  nereid-born ; 
their  favorite  colors  are  white  and  red  ;  here  and 
there  the  splendid  beauty  attributed  to  them  is 
disfigured  by  goat-like  feet ;  they  are  astonish- 
ingly light  and  agile,  swing  themselves  in  the  air, 
and  traverse  incredible  distances  ;  they  live  more 
than  a  thousand  years,  spin  and  weave  for  the 
slumbering  house-wife ;  a  filmy-tendriled,  airy 
climbing  plant  that  twines  about  the  peasants' 
homes  is  called  nereid-thread ;  to  dance  like  a 
nereid  is  a  proverb,  and  their  song  is  enchanting; 
their  gladness  and  gayety,  their  intermarriage 
with  mortals,  their  dancing  on  the  mountains  to 
the  shepherd's  flutes  ;  the  multitude  of  beautiful 
legends  of  young  men  of  extraordinary  comeli- 
ness who  became  their  lovers,  and  to  whom  they 
delivered  themselves  up;  the  legendary  descent 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  24 1 

of  many  families  from  them ;  the  disastrous  in- 
fluence they  exercise  at  noon,  as  The  Hostile 
Ones,  especially  in  summer,  near  a  stream,  or  in 
the  shadow  of  a  plane,  poplar,  fig,  or  chestnut 
tree,  at  cross-roads  and  beside  mills  ;  the  irre- 
sistible power  they  exert  over  young  people  in 
luring  them  to  wander  in  the  woods  by  themselves 
until  death  overtakes  them ;  their  dwelling  in  the 
whirlwinds  which  visit  Greece  in  summer,  and  the 
deprecatory  prayer  the  old  women  mutter  at  that 
time  —  Me  At  koI  yaXa  cttov  Spofjio  eras  (milk  and 
honey  on  your  path  !)  ;  the  curious  and  confused 
medley  of  pagan  and  Christian  myth  blending  in 
the  infinite  legends  about  them :  all  this  conspires 
to  cast  a  glamour  over  the  rude  rustic  life,  which 
is  close  to  the  freshest  morning  imagination.  It 
shows  extraordinary  facility  and  vivacity  of  fancy, 
and  a  strange  persistence  of  legends  current  in 
ancient  and  mediaeval  times. 

Then  the  dry  mm  that  live  in  the  water,  the  cu- 
rious race  of  demons,  called  exotic.,  that  haunt 
graveyards  and  reeds  and  lonesome  places  by 
night  and  at  noon,  the  holy  hour  of  the  gods, 
when  it  was  dangerous  to  play  on  the  flute,  for 
while  the  sun  is  glowing  and  glistening  in  the  mid- 
heavens  men  feel  the  need  of  rest  and  the  gods 
may  walk  forth  undisturbed :  these  are  the  coun- 
ter-balance on  the  dark  side  to  the  bright-haired, 
beautiful-footed  nereids.  Demonic  might,  in  the 
16 


242  GREEK  VIGNETTES, 

popular  superstition,  is  attributed  to  the  lamia, 
another  series  of  sea-spirits,  to  whom  has  passed 
much  of  the  fantastical  power  over  men  and 
music  belonging  to  the  sirens.  They  are  the 
bugaboo  of  children,  and  figure  largely  in  the  di- 
lating twilight  and  magnifying  dusk.  Sea-demons, 
the  horrible  striglce  that  fly  by  night  to  the  cra- 
dles of  young  children  and  suck  their  blood ;  the 
child-killing  Gello,  that  transforms  itself  into  a 
fish,  a  swallow,  and  a  strand  of  goat's  hair ;  the 
monno,  with  which  nurses  frighten  children  ;  the 
Gorgona,  descendant  of  the  classic  Gorgo ;  the 
kalika7itsari,  the  werewolves  of  Greece,  who  get 
possession  of  the  babes  born  between  Christmas 
and  New  Year,  since  it  is  sinful  for  mortal  women 
to  bear  children  within  the  period  consecrated  to 
the  pangs  and  purification  of  the  Holy  Mother; 
who  come  down  the  chimney  and  make  ugly  work 
with  the  pots  and  kettles,  but  stand  in  mortal 
dread  of  a  black  cock :  all  these  furnish  food  to 
the  lively,  illiterate  peasantry  in  the  long  winter 
nights,  and  interweave  their  singular  influences 
with  the  doings  and  sayings  of  the  people.  Neo- 
Hellenic  demonology  has  more  than  one  rem- 
iniscence of  the  ancient  Pan  and  Hephaestus  in 
the  lame  demo?i  and  the  demons  of  the  flocks 
and  herds.  The  vampyre,  which  is  the  soul  of  a 
dead  man  expiating  some  great  crime,  is  another 
thrilling  creation  of  popular  fancy.     Then  come 


GREEK   VIGNETTES.  243 

the  telonia,  or  spirits  of  the  air,  that  sparkle 
electrically  along  the  cordage  of  ships  by  night 
in  storms ;  the  guardian  angels,  that  accompany 
men  through  life;  the  house-snakes,  that  are  local 
spirits  j  the  treasure-guarding  dragons,  that  re- 
call the  Hesperides-myth,  to  conciliate  whom  a 
little  blood  must  be  spilt  under  the  treasure ;  the 
giants'  graves,  shown  in  many  places  ;  the  three 
Fates,  who  are  still  so  busy  with  the  Greek  im- 
agination, and  who  are  spinning,  reeling  off,  and 
clipping  the  thread  of  life  as  diligently  as  ever, 
even  their  names  (jxoipai)  being  unchanged :  a 
cluster  of  myths  beautifully  interwoven  with  all 
manner  of  graceful  custom,  reminding  one  of 
May-day  superstitions  and  All  Hallow  E'en.  Cha- 
ron and  the  under-world  open  the  earth  and  let 
out  a  flight  of  strange,  lovely,  and  poetic  beliefs, 
which  mix  in  with  the  speech  and  habitudes  of  the 
day,  and  give  rise  to  phrases,  songs,  and  sayings 
innumerable.  Charon  is  not  only  boatman  of 
the  under-world,  he  is  the  mighty  ©amro?,  Death 
himself,  with  his  shadowy  realm.  He  is  even 
taken  into  the  service  of  the  Christian  Church 
and  made  to  minister  in  certain  things ;  now  mild, 
tender,  and  sympathetic,  then  menacing  and  re- 
lentless. The  joyless  Homeric  view  of  death  as 
the  supreme  evil  is  still  rife.  All,  good  and  bad 
alike,  descend  to  Hades,  and  life  only  is  the  high- 
est blessing.     Countless  lights  burn  in  the  king- 


244  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

dom  of  Charon,  each  one  of  which  represen-ts  a 
human  life  one  by  one  extinguished.  Paradise 
and  Hades  change  places  in  this  odd  semi-pagan- 
ized condition  of  mind  so  common  in  less  visited 
Greece,  while  the  reeds  that  kiss  each  other  in 
the  bending  wind  are  the  souls  of  lovers  giving 
the  last  caress. 

All  this  is  inextricably  entangled  with  a  mass 
of  Christian  superstitions,  legends  of  saints,  mar- 
tyrs, and  devils,  religious  festivals  and  commem- 
orations, mythological  ideas  of  God,  pictures,  rel- 
ics, vows,  and  consecrations.  Here  the  Madonna- 
legend  has  taken  strongest  and  strangest  hold, 
and  is  now  a  tender,  now  a  pathetic,  and  now  a 
sublime  creation  of  loving  and  worshiping  fancy. 


VI. 

We  left  Athens  by  the  Lucifer — and  a  Lucifer 
of  a  time  we  had  !  It  blew  something  of  a  gale 
all  day,  and  nearly  everybody  was  laid  out.  I 
was  called  at  five  in  the  morning,  made  my  toilet, 
drank  a  dish  of  tea,  and  then  went  down  to  my 
good  SatfX(i)v,  Miltiades  Vidis.  We  found  nearly 
all  the  servants  of  the  establishment  waiting, 
hands  out,  including  the  dark-eyed,  handsome 
proprietor,  and  I  gave  fees  to  five  of  the  attaches 
{attaches  indeed,  for  they  stick  to  you  like  wax  !), 
and  left  as  many  open-mouthed,  empty-handed, 
and  chagrined.  Athens  was  very  beautiful  in 
the  early  morning  —  in  the  gray,  dewy,  sunlight- 
flushed  Attic  morning.  I  had  never  felt  the  won- 
derful beauty  of  its  situation  so  fully  before.  The 
deserted  streets  and  closed  houses ;  the  occa- 
sional cry  of  an  itinerant  wood-vender,  driving 
his  asses  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  street  j  a  car- 
riage or  two  loitering  in  the  square  below  ;  the 
bright,  mysterious,  fresco-like  fringe  of  mountains 
just  beginning  to  live  and  lighten  on  the  borders 
of  the  Attic  plain  ;  the  cool  distances  of  tender 
blue  sea  singularly  calm  in  this  silent  hour,  — 


246  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

what  pangs  of  poetic  reminiscence  such  a  scene 
awakens  !  Then  think  how  delightful  it  was  to 
drive  in  one  of  those  comfortable  Athenian  ai^a- 
iai,  with  a  quick  pair  of  horses,  the  top  thrown 
back,  and  the  delicious  sting  of  the  fresh  morning 
air  in  one's  face  !  To  see  the  Orient  one  must 
see  it  in  the  early  morning.  The  twin  dusks  of 
morning  and  evening  soften  its  ardent  lights  and 
shadows,  throw  a  veil  over  its  intolerable  suns, 
and  fill  one's  memory  with  enjoyable  recollec- 
tions. 

We  whirled  on  down  the  fine  road  to  the  Pi- 
raeus (four  miles  distant),  and  I  turned  back 
many  times  to  take  parting  glances  at  the  great 
theatre  of  ancient  history.  The  roads  were  just 
being  watered,  and  we  were  saved  the  annoyance 
(which  is  perennial  at  Athens)  of  the  subtile,  wind- 
blown lime  dust.  For  a  long  distance  the  road  is 
a  splendid  avenue  of  silver-poplars,  locusts,  and 
plane  trees,  with  brown,  sunburnt  fields  or  vine- 
yards loaded  with  grapes  on  each  side.  The 
long  stretch  of  noble  olive-trees  lay  nestled  in 
silver  uncertainty  at  this  early  hour.  Far  away 
we  could  see  the  white  walls  of  the  Monastery  of 
St.  Elias,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Pass  of  Daphne, 
receiving  an  acute  accent  from  the  advancing 
sun.  Groups  of  market-people  and  donkeys, 
wagons  and  peasants,  passed  us  on  their  way  to 
Athens.     In  an  hour  we  had  reached  the  noisy 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  24/ 

harbor  of  Piraeus,  catching  glimpses  of  the  Long 
AVall  of  Themistocles  here  and  there.  We  paid 
our  five  drachmae,  got  into  the  boat  (two  drach- 
mae), and  were  rowed  out  to  the  Ltidfer,  which  I 
was  nearly  the  first  to  reach.  Other  passengers 
soon  came,  and  by  eight  o'clock  a  crowd  had 
gathered,  several  handsome  Italian  men  and 
women  among  them.  Before  we  left  the  wind 
had  increased  to  violence,  and  filled  the  air  far 
out  to  sea  with  a  cloud  of  dust.  There  was,  how- 
ever, an  inconceivable  refreshment  in  the  wind 
after  the  protracted  heat  and  languor  of  Athens. 
The  Acropolis  hung  in  the  distance  for  a  long 
time  after  our  departure,  and  did  not  finally  dis- 
appear till  we  were  in  the  neighborhood  of  Su- 
nium.  Mournful  and  majestic  it  looked  in  this 
silver  silence,  as  we  sped  past  the  island  of 
Salamis,  the  shores  of  ^gina,  the  peak  of  Mount 
Gerania,  and  the  long  and  lofty  range,  of  Isth- 
mian and  Peloponnesian  mountains,  all  pure  and 
perfect  in  outline  as  a  Chinese  carving.  Who  in 
this  singularly  magnificent  scene  of  the  Saronic 
Gulf  could  help  remembering  that  grand  passage 
in  the  "  Agamemnon "  of  ^schylus  where  he 
celebrates  the  beacon-lights  shot  into  sudden 
bloom  on  the  mountain-tops  by  the  fall  of  Troy? 
Just  so  these  fairy  heights  shot  into  ethereal 
bloom  under  the  golden  touch  of  the  morn,  the 
"  Torch  of  Conquest ''  and  "  Traveling  Fire  " 
that  lighted  even  to  Agamemnon's  battlements. 


248  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

There  was  the  usual  amount  of  distrait  con- 
versation at  breakfast,  carried  on  in  voluble  Ital- 
ian or  spasmodic  Greek,  copiously  bedewed  with 
Szexard  wine.  And  then  the  chicken  buried  in 
rancid  rice,  the  filet  de  bxuf  pointed  with  tomato 
sauce,  the  greasy  potatoes  and  aromatic,  oily 
salad,  followed,  not  by  Gruyere  oxfromage  de  Brie, 
but  by  the  usual  melancholy  mockery  of  with- 
ered fruit  and  coffee.  Then  the  gale  came  with 
vehemence,  followed  by  a  scene  of  piteous  and 
indescribable  woe  :  grewsome  men  and  women 
stretched  out ;  horrid  children  laid  low ;  puling 
babies  a-squeak  ;  handing  about  of  hideous  blue^ 
porcelain  pots  ;  impossibility  of  reading  or  keep- 
ing still.  Although  we  were  passing  down  a  neck- 
lace of  bright  isles  —  never  out  of  sight  of  their 
blueness  and  beauty  and  fantastical  grace  —  it 
all  seemed  a  mockery  to  the  dismayed  passen- 
gers; and  those  who  had  taken  breakfast,  afid 
those  who  had  not,  were  equally  loathly.  The 
fine  ruined  temple  on  Cape  Sunium  fortunately 
passed  before  us  ere  this  crisis  of  disenchant- 
ing weather  befell.  And  all  this  gale  and  tumult 
of  wind  while  the  loveliest  blue  sky  was  beaming 
above,  the  wildest  and  winsomest  sunlight  was 
beating  about  us. 

At  5  or  6  we  steamed  into  Syra^-the  island- 
port  of  the  Levant  —  and  anchored  before  the 
charming   little  oriental  city,  being  immediately 


GREEK  VIGNETTES,  249 

boarded  and  captured  by  a  throng  of  rogues, 
who  would  take  us  ashore  in  spite  of  ourselves. 
I  never  saw  such  a  set  of  wild  monkeys  as  these 
Greek  islanders  —  knowing  just  enough  of  sev- 
eral languages  to  inspire  you  with  faint  hope, 
and  then  allure  you  into  inextricable  difficulties, 
insolent,  rapacious,  and  sharp.  We  were  to  wait 
till  midnight  for  the  great  mail-steamer  from 
Constantinople  to  Corfu.  The  night,  of  course, 
passed  either  sleeplessly  or  with  troubled  snatches 
of  ill-sufficing  slumber,  for  at  half-past  one  we 
had  to  bargain  with  a  boatman  to  carry  us  over 
this  Styx  and  put  us  on  the  mail-steamer.  Rough 
water,  dim  light,  a  throng  of  clamorous  wretches 
surrounding  the  Ettore,  through  whom,  with  Odys- 
sean  cunning,  we  vainly  strove  to  make  our  way ; 
a  steep  ladder  on  the,  side  of  the  ship  to  climb, 
while  the  boat  bounded  wildly;  an  evident  de- 
sire on  the  part  of  the  batteliere  to  make  off 
into  the  midnight  with  my  baggage  while  I  was 
climbing ;  a  multitude  of  barges  and  passenger 
barche,  whose  owners  were  all  shouting  and  quar- 
reling in  chorus.  What  a  night !  I  felt  several 
years  older  when  I  finally  got  safe  and  sound 
to  the  deck  of  the  Ettore,  and  groped  my  way 
in  the  darkness  down  into  the  cabin.  A  long 
ship  full  of  many-colored  oriental  life  —  Ger- 
mans, Austrians,  Americans,  English,  Dalmatians, 
Turks,  Greeks,  Italians,  French,  Moslems,  and 


250  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

missionaries,  soldiers  and  civilians,  men  in  fezes, 
pugguries,  turbans,  a  band  of  wandering  musi- 
cians fleeing  from  Adrian ople,  groups  of  Turks 
lying  about  on  rugs  and  bright-colored  mattresses, 
in  the  midst  of  melons,  playing-cards,  snoring, 
eating,  praying,  prostrating  themselves  toward 
Mecca ;  Eastern  women  sprawling  and  squatting 
here  and  there  on  the  second-class  deck ;  fierce- 
looking  fellows  with  pistols  sticking  out  of  their 
belts  or  swathed  about  the  loins  with  gay-hued 
sashes ;  everywhere  the  flashing  eyes,  thick 
brows,  and  pale  skins  of  the  Levant. 

The  deck  looked  like  the  ward  of  an  Eastern 
hospital :  it  was  covered  over  with  thick  awnings 
to  keep  out  the  sun  ;  pallets  were  spread  every- 
where j  a  huge,  green,  rollicking  parrot  peeped 
out  of  one  side  of  the  gangway  pavilion,  and 
the  Dalmatian  captain,  smoking  an  enormous 
hookah,  sat  in  the  other.  The  Germans  chat- 
tered ;  the  French  shrugged  and  gesticulated ;  the 
English  sang  hymns  over  the  wheel-house  ;  the 
Turks  played  cards,  munched  melons,  smoked 
interminable  cigarettes,  and  squatted  on  their 
heels  ;  and  the  wandering  musicians,  recovering 
from  their  seasickness,  forgot  their  exile,  and 
gave  us  the  liveliest  waltzes  and  polkas  for  our 
Sunday  afternoon !  What  a  crowded,  colored, 
feverish  three  days  it  was  !  My  state-room  com- 
panions were    Germans,  —  a  young  clerk  from 


GREEK   VIGNETTES.  251 

Smyrna;  a  florid-faced,  gold-spectacled  Frank- 
forter  from  Athens,  always  talking  about  work- 
ing for  the  Greeks,  Lumpenpack,  etc.,  etc. ;  and 
a  pot-bellied  Viennese,  full  of  fun,  ribaldry,  and 
beer,  all  the  time.  The  cuisine  was  like  a  French 
menu  gone  mad  —  a  mixture  of  all  nationalities, 
substances,  and  sauces,  good  enough  in  its  way, 
too,  but  for  the  infinite  piquancy  of  its  unknown 
ingredients.  The  Austrian  Lloyd's  steamers  fur- 
nish an  abundance  of  food,  which  is  eatable 
enough,  but  rather  promiscuous.  The  attendance 
is  good.  Mixed  as  the  food  was,  I  could  not 
help  thinking  how  superior  it  appeared  to  the 
brutal  coarseness  of  an  Atlantic  steamer's  fare, 
where  you  have  mountains  of  meat  and  not  a 
savory  morsel,  "  thirty-two  religions  and  but  one 
sauce  !  "  How  gladly  would  one  throw  away  the 
long  phalanx  of  abominable  pastry  for  a  single 
dainty  Italian  or  French  dessert !  But  the  loaded 
stomach  must  be  sickened  with  fifty  custards, 
pies,  and  puddings,  or  J.  Bull  will  grumble.  An 
ocean  steamer  is  indeed  (and  alas ! )  but  the  ves- 
tibule of  our  polyglot  and  polygluttonous  Ameri- 
can cookery. 

The  Ettore  was  what  they  call  in  Levant  slang 
a  celere^  or  fast  steamer,  and  made  good  time. 
At  7  in  the  morning  —  Sunday  morning — we 
left  Syra,  and  in  the  evening  we  were  round- 
ing Cape  Malea  and  steaming  in  and  around  the 


252  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

beautiful  peaked  and  pointed  land  of  the  Pelo- 
ponnese.  A  hermit  dwells  on  this  desolate  but 
brilliant  Naze.  The  Etiore  fired  a  gun  as  we 
passed,  but  failed  to  draw  him  from  his  little  hut, 
which  crowned  a  picturesque  rock  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  some  evidences  of  a  meagre  garden. 
There  was  a  tiny  chapel  at  a  short  distance,  and 
out  in  front  the  cincturing  and  opal-toned  Med- 
iterranean. 

An  infinite  grotesguerie  is  this  Peloponnesian 
coast  —  a  piece  of  goblin  (not  Gobelins)  tapestry, 
for  it  shoots  out  and  then  in,  with  long  inland- 
stretching  lapses  of  sunlit  coast-line  ;  bold  out- 
tossings  and  upturnings  of  cragged  and  castled 
promontory;  distances  hung  thick  with  historic 
mountains,  curves,  and  crescent-like  gulfs,  —  in 
short,  a  grand,  gnarled  Gothic  coast,  most  brill- 
iantly bare  and  pictorial.  It  is  like  a  piece  of 
music  by  Liszt.  Sailing  in  and  out,  up  and 
down  it,  is  like  following  the  lines  of  an  old 
Venetian  globe  ;  now  you  are  in  the  stars  and 
now  in  terra  incognita;  now  among  constellated 
dragons,  now  meandering  along  the  twisted 
Indies.  Half  the  day  and  night  we  seemed  to 
be  pursuing  this  will-o'-the-wisp  voyage  —  round- 
ing Cape  Matapan,  slipping  by  one  lovely  bit 
of  sea-surrounded  rock  after  another,  catching 
up  with  other  vessels  and  then  leaving  them 
far  behind,  prolonging  our  walks  and  talks  and 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  253 

music  far  into  the  moonlit  night,  for  the  silver 
spectre  of  the  half-moon  hung  over  the  Pelopon- 
nesus and  dogged  us  as  it  did  the  Ancient  Mari- 
ner. All  day  Monday  we  passed  over  familiar 
ground  —  or,  rather,  water  :  Zante,  Paxo,  Cepha- 
lonia,  Ithaca,  Santa  Maura ;  and  lastly,  late  in 
the  night,  reached  Corfu,  under  the  same  serene, 
sterile  moonlight.  The  indescribable  beauty  of 
the  Ionian  Islands  need  not  be  dwelt  on  again. 

I  took  a  boat  and  landed,  and  am  now 
"  inned  "  (as  Chaucer  says)  in  the  gray  old  Ho- 
tel St.  Georges,  waiting  for  the  Brindisi  steamer. 
This  steamer  sails  to-morrow  afternoon.  I  am 
glad  we  stopped  at  Corfu.  Those  who  do  not 
land  here  have  little  idea  of  its  beauty,  unrivaled 
as  the  sea-glimpse  of  it  is.  The  gray  rocks,  the 
tropical  vegetation,  the  tangled  and  tumultuous 
line  of  mountain  that  so  delightfully  bewilders 
the  eye  as  it  vainly  attempts  to  follow  its  sinu- 
osities ;  the  picturesque  Albanian  crags  opposite, 
some  with  villages  grove-embowered  and  gleam- 
ing; the  long  curves  and  expanses  of  lovely  blue 
water ;  the  drives,  the  walks,  the  soft  and  saintly 
purples  of  the  mountains,  bright  with  an  infinite 
poesy,  the  world  of  graceful  water  and  fertile 
land,  —  make  up  one  of  the  richest  pictures  of 
insular  and  oriental  life.  The  coloring  of  the 
houses  is  so  mellow,  and  such  a  relief  after  the 
painful  whiteness  of   new  Athens !     There   are, 


254  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

too,  numerous  traces  of  the  four  hundred  years' 
Venetian  occupation,  in  the  quaint  Venetianized 
architecture  j  the  narrow,  winding  streets  spanned 
by  arches ;  the  graceful  bell-towers,  with  their 
time-worn  clocks  outside ;  the  embrasured  win- 
dows, lofty  houses,  tiny  gardens  of  orange  and 
ilex,  and  traces  of  sculptured  portals.  The  town 
is  all  huddled  together  in  a  sort  of  valley  between 
the  Fortrezza  Nuova  and  the  ancient,  double- 
peaked  citadel.  These  double  peaks  gave  the 
ancient  name  (Corcyra)  to  the  place.  I  have 
not  noticed  even  one  respectable-looking  shop, 
but  all  is  delightfully  cramped,  huddled,  and  old- 
fashioned.  About  one  half  the  buying  and  sell- 
ing seems  to  be  done  in  the  streets.  One  comes 
on  a  perfect  nest  of  cobblers  working  in  these 
streets,  gossiping,  mending,  working,  laughing, 
eating.  Then  a  den  of  a  cafe  (^Ka^^^^vdov)  hangs 
out  its  sign  in  Greek  and  Italian,  and  bids  you 
come  in  and  enjoy  its  delights.  The  whole  town 
seems  given  up  to  the  sale  of  fruits  —  glorious 
oranges  with  pieces  of  the  green  limb  still  cling- 
ing to  them,  pine-apples,  pears,  peaches,  melons. 
Then  one  comes  on  cheese-shops  full  of  white 
zimoto  cream-cheeses  —  cheeses  yellow,  green, 
fresh,  and  fragrant.  There  is  the  usual  quantum 
of  Romaic  Tra^roTrwAeta,  or  groceries  filled  with 
gastronomic  curiosities.  Then  succeed  long  Bo- 
lognese    arcades,   labyrinthine    68ot,    or    alleys, 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  255 

with  lines  stretched  across,  full  of  newly-laun- 
dried  clothes,  the  painted  blue-and-white  arch  of 
a  Byzantine  chapel,  a  slender  silhouette-like  Ital- 
ian campanile,  all  mellowness  and  mossy  beauty, 
a  pile  of  steep-gabled  cinque-cento  houses,  a 
cluster  of  twisted,  convoluted  chimneys,  a  bit 
of  ruined,  lichen-covered  wall,  a  palace  with  a 
statue  in  front,  a  gate  whose  arch  and  classic 
balustrade  frame  exquisite  pictures  of  sea  and 
mountains,  an  ancient  inn  with  a  belfry  and  win- 
dow-embrasures green  and  gay  with  geraniums, 
a  turreted  parapet  looking  down  on  the  bright- 
est wine-like  water,  a  group  of  cypresses,  a  moat, 
and  a  grand  crag  full  of  dismantled  fortifications. 
Such  is  an  epitome  of  this  town  of  twenty-five 
thousand  inhabitants.  Unrivaled  drives  lead  out 
from  it  into  the  country  on  various  sides,  —  the 
One-Gun  Battery,  Benizze,  Coruna,  the  Oak,  San 
Pantaleone,  —  not  to  speak  of  the  countless  in- 
teresting bridle-paths  that  scatter  and  scamper 
over  the  fields  and  hills  in  all  directions.  Then 
there  is  life  here.  All  the  steamers  east  and 
west  make  this  their  calling-place.  The  English 
have  civilized  the  country  in  point  of  roads, 
though  not  of  currencies.  It  is  but  twelve  hours 
across  to  Brindisi,  and  one  is  thus  freed  from  the 
sad  isolation  of  continental  Greece.  The  coun- 
try is  kept  green  by  rain.  The  perpetual  neu- 
trality of  Corfu,  established  when   the   English 


256  GREEK   VIGNETTES. 

gave  up  their  protectorate  of  the  Ionian  Islands, 
conduces  to  a  feeling  of  prosperous  tranquillity. 
Intensely  Greek  as  are  the  Corfiotes,  they  are 
too  wise  not  to  take  advantage  of  this  admirable 
state  of  things,  and  get  rich  and  independent  as 
soon  as  possible.  After  their  singularly  varied 
and  stormy  history,  beginning  with  the  revolt 
mentioned  by  Thucydides,  this  lull  is  just  what 
they  wanted.  One  sees  beggars,  but  perhaps 
they  are  constitutionally  such,  for  the  island  is 
still  what  Xenophon,  three  hundred  and  fifty 
years  before  Christ,  described  it,  a  paradise  of 
fertility.  Perhaps,  therefore,  the  beggars  are  the 
conscientious  or  the  constitutional  ones.  The 
money  one  gives  them  clinks  in  their  pockets 
with  other  moneys  they  have  harvested  in  other 
rounds  —  is,  perhaps,  even  kept  to  give  you 
change. 

The  Hotel  St.  Georges,  where  I  am  staying 
(the  grand  Hotel  St.  Georges,  no  matter  how 
small  !),  is  a  very  funny  old  affair,  full  of  cuddies 
and  corners,  canary-birds  in  cages,  innumerable 
pots  of  blooming  flowers  lining  the  staircases  and 
entries,  mirrors  and  slices  of  mirrors  throwing 
your  silvered  elongation  into  half-mystified  dis- 
tances ;  with,  too  (positively),  a  mosquito-net  on 
the  little  brass  bedstead  in  my  room.  It  fronts 
the  esplanade  and  its  rich  shade  trees,  where  I 
hear  the  cicadae  singing  as  they  do  in  our  dear 


GREEK  VIGNETTES.  257 

land,  and  where  the  nurses  and  babies  play  all 
day  long  in  the  heavy-lidded  sunlight.  This  es- 
planade is  just  the  spot  for  that  "  beautiful  but 
baneful  influence  of  classic  reverie  "  of  which  Dis- 
raeli speaks  \  that  sweet  meditation  which  takes 
us  back  to  Homer,  Thucydides,  Xenophon,  Ac- 
tium,  and  Lepanto.  One  can  sit  on  the  benches 
under  the  elms  and  plane-trees  and  dream  delight- 
ful dreams  of  ancient  poets  and  philosophers,  re- 
construct Plato's  Republic,  listen  to  the  eloquent 
talk  of  Socrates,  glance  down  the  coast  of  Elis, 
and  repeople  it  with  the  mighty  song  of  Pindar. 
The  tzitzirbos  sing  so  lazily  in  the  sunny  air ;  a 
far  steamer,  faint  in  the  sea  and  morning  light 
of  the  horizon,  creeps  stealthily  into  greater  and 
greater  clearness  as  you  gaze  over  to  the  grand 
Acroceraunian  crags  j  the  gray  citadel,  rising  as 
it  does  from  clustering  churches,  looks  lumi- 
nously dim  in  this  azure  incandescent  air,  and 
might  tell  you  delightful  contes  of  the  doges  and 
the  pashas ;  cooling  winds  blow  in  from  the 
plate-glass  sea  and  stir  mellifluously  among  the 
thicket  of  scarlet  geraniums  that  faces  the  antique 
lion  of  St.  Mark's,  carved  in  the  wall  of  the  castle- 
moat.  Looking  on  this  eloquence  of  sunlight 
and  perfume  and  perfect  sea  and  air,  one  is  be- 
witched as  with  the  Lamia-gaze  of  some  dazzling 
serpent.  I  cannot  think  of  a  more  charming 
place  than  Corfu  in  the  summer  —  full  of  game, 
17 


258  GREEK  VIGNETTES. 

fish,  and  fruit ;  full  of  the  gentle  murmurs  of 
poetic  antiquity ;  full  of  grace,  scenery,  and 
quaintness.  Yesterday  evening  the  full  moon 
burst  from  behind  the  Epirote  mountains,  at  first 
like  the  brilliant  glistening  crimson  of  a  huge 
pomegranate  that  has  burst  its  bell  and  revealed 
the  scarlet  beauty  of  its  seed  ;  then  more  and 
more  like  some  wonderful  flower,  as  it  rose  and 
rose  until  it  hung  on  tiptoe  on  the  sharp  mount- 
ain-edge, then  slipped  into  the  starry  ether  in 
luminous  serenity.  How  weird  Castrades,  and 
the  pallid  sun-shotten  water,  and  the  looming 
castle  looked,  under  the  amber  symphonies  of 
this  fairy  light !  In  the  evening,  at  six,  I  leave 
by  the  Sultan  from  Smyrna/  for  Brindisi.  We 
have  had  a  slight  shower,  which  has  suffused  the 
arid  silvery  air  with  moisture,  and  left  behind 
the  "  Midsummer-Night's  Dream  "  in  clouds. 


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